A crash of ceramic on tile silences a giggling classroom. Quickly, a slurry of voices rushes in to fill the quiet.
“DeAndre, you broke the mug!”
“Nuh-uh, Pierre threw it bad!”
“I told you I can’t throw well with my trunk.”
“Can we fix it?”
“Uh, no. Guys, what do we do?”
“Quick, hide it.”
“No way, you know Ms. Boudreau hates lying.”
“She’ll cancel recess for a week!”
“So we tell her it was an accident.”
“Yeah, like a bird flew in and knocked it over.”
“Come on, you know she won’t believe that.”
“We can’t avoid it, someone’s gonna have to fess up,” Marie declares.
“Pierre threw it, make him tell her!”
“But we were all playing the game.” Pierre trumpets his indignation. “Why do I have to take the blame?”
“We can’t let Pierre tell her. You know Ms. Boudreau always says, ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me?’ Elephants never omit, he’ll get us all busted.”
“You better figure this out, DeAndre,” fierce little Raquel snaps, grabbing the older boy by the front of his shirt. “I need my recess!”
“Let go of me, Raquel,” he brushes her off. “And Pierre, don’t trumpet.” The pachyderm stifles himself.
“I’m sorry, DeAndre,” says Marie, “but it’s gotta be you. You dropped it, and Ms. Boudreau likes you. So look, here’s how it’s gonna go…”
Ms. Boudreau walks in, finds DeAndre standing contritely by her desk. Her souvenir cat mug lies broken at his feet.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Boudreau, I slipped and your mug hit the floor. I didn’t mean to break it.”
From her desk, Marie observes that the boy has technically not told a lie. Nor has he hidden the accident.
Ms. Boudreau looks down sadly at the shattered mug. She starts to tell DeAndre that accidents happen, that it is alright. Yet, some instinct makes her glance around the room instead. The children look too tense, perhaps concealing some additional detail.
“Thank you for taking responsibility, DeAndre,” she tells the boy in front of her. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Ms. Boudreau moves her eyes sideways while she speaks, observing the class. There: A whisper of a smile crosses Marie’s lips. Next to her, Pierre bites his lip beneath his trunk. She turns on the young pachyderm.
“Actually, Pierre, you’re being awfully quiet.” Ms. Boudreau advances as the room holds its breath. “Usually, you’d be rumbling in your seat, eager to get on with things. Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”
A dozen choking children stare at the pachyderm, no longer concealing their fear.
“Well…” Pierre begins.
“No!” shrieks the class.
Ms. Boudreau smirks, for she too knows, elephants never omit.