I can feel the air: heavy and muggy. We’re in the shade, surrounded by newly-budding trees, but it’s still too hot. We know the stakes are high—we’ve been told many times that we aren’t allowed in the woods behind the playground—but we do it anyways. It’s only for a few minutes. After all, we’ll soon leave behind this school forever.

These woods are ours, or so we believe. Eleanor, Preethi, Laura, and I found them last year. They are a luxury that we don’t often use; only occasionally do we sneak in to talk and play. The other fifth graders know about the woods, but most are too scared to join us because it is against the rules. The tall oaks beckon us with their soothing, swishing voices. The sweet blossoms lure us in deeper and deeper.

Laura is whispering to the trees, pretending to get in touch with the spirits, while Eleanor balances on a wooden log. I can still see the school from here, and we prowl further under the swaying trees. I lean against a stump and whisper, “Guys, do think any of the teachers saw us?”

“Nah,” says Eleanor. “Don’t worry. They haven’t caught us since last year.”

Still, I don’t feel entirely convinced. Skepticism overwhelms me. What if we get caught again? Last year, we got yelled at multiple times by the lunch supervisors for sneaking in. I really don’t want to end fifth grade on a low note. “I don’t think we should go any further,” I start. “Maybe we should just go back today.”

Preethi and Eleanor are adamant. The look of annoyance is all too clear on their faces. “No, we have to. Stop worrying, Lucille. Be quiet.”

Only Laura sides with me. “Maybe Lucille’s right. We can come back down another day when the teachers don’t suspect anything.” I smile, glad that at least my best friend understands my jumpiness.

All of a sudden, I see a silhouette at the edge of the woods—it’s my teacher, Mr. McIntosh, looking in our direction. Surely if I can see him, then he can see us. Oh crap. We’re going to be in huge trouble.

The chaos comes all at once. “Girls!” I hear Mr. McIntosh roar. “Get out of there right now!” It is unlike anything that I have ever heard before. My normally sweet-tempered teacher is furious at us. The girls and I start bolting, past the giant trees and the flat logs, through the thick mud. Twigs are snapping and leaves are rustling. We’re criminals—no direction, no idea what will happen. I’m panting in the heat—the awful, suffocating weather. Then all of the thoughts start rushing in. Should we hide and wait for everyone to leave? Maybe I should fabricate an excuse for us.

“Guys,” whispers Eleanor in one last, sneaky move. “We should try to find another exit and sneak out.” But it’s too late; a crowd has gathered and we’re already at the entrance to the woods, met by Mr. McIntosh’s glaring face.

We’re marched off the playground and back into the school like convicts. I can’t believe it. I’m a good kid; I never get in trouble. My punishment is harsh: a week of lunch detention and a call home. An hour later, my friends and I exit the principal’s conference room after a severe lecture of trespassing. Eleanor quietly claims that our adventuring days are not over yet and I agree. But the next time I’m going to sneak around, I better not get caught.