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(This was inspired by a news report of a 9-year-old boy who got past two security checkpoints, had no ticket and managed to fly to Las Vegas on his own.)

Last Friday morning, veteran Minneapolis teacher Giselle Schumacher thought it was too good to be true when she heard the news bulletin on her car radio. This would be her last year of teaching - number 36 - and she didn't know if she was going to make it to Thanksgiving, let alone to the end of the school year. But she believed with all her might that God works in mysterious ways.

Giselle wasn't as energetic in the classroom as she had been 20 or 30 years ago, but she still ran a tight ship, and her students learned. She'd had her share of problem kids, and even they managed to turn their attitudes around because of the skillful classroom management and loving support of "Mrs. S." Thankfully, the never-ending supply of hardheads from the Keister family, 11 kids total, every last one of them sullen and stubborn, had finally ended last year. Mrs. Schumacher's fervent wish was that this final year would be a stellar one to cap her successful career.

This last class of fourth-graders was almost perfect: 24 polite, eager-to-learn 9-year-olds, so cooperative they almost made her reconsider the decision to retire. However, the diminutive, salt-and-pepper-haired Mrs. S. believed strongly in "quitting while you're ahead." Three weeks ago, however, Principal Wimple had thrown a huge fly in the ointment: Brendan Folts. The two of them appeared at her door one Friday afternoon, and it had been chaos in Room 214 ever since.

"Mrs. Schumacher, this is Brendan Folts. He's having some difficulties in Ms. Pawnley's room, so he's being assigned to your class. He needs more structure, right, Brendan? Here's his folder."

This was nothing new to Mrs. S.; she worked magic, or so it seemed, with difficult children. This time, though, a chill ran down her spine when Brendan looked her squarely in the eye. He was a handsome child, fine-featured and dressed in the latest style, but it was clear a change was in the air - a big one.

The first week, Brendan disappeared from the classroom at random times; Mrs. S. would be teaching a lesson on homonyms or expanded form place value at the smartboard (still hard for her to get used to), and turn around to see his empty chair. "Where is Brendan?" she'd ask the class. No one ever knew. She would buzz the office to report him missing, and within a short time, he would reappear, explaining that he'd needed the bathroom and "didn't want to interrupt the lesson" or "was afraid he'd have an accident." By the end of the week, Mrs. S. was totally frazzled.

In the second week with Brendan, he went missing more frequently, and sometimes was found walking nonchalantly at the end of another teacher's class on their way to gym or music. Once a cafeteria aide noticed him sitting with a kindergarten class eating a second lunch and returned him to Room 214.

Mrs. Schumacher set up a meeting with his parents, but they missed it; could they reschedule it to next week?

Although she tried her best to connect with Brendan, he reminded her of Eddie Haskell from "Leave It to Beaver," sickeningly polite to her face, but bad to the bone in reality. She tried very hard to watch him at all times and began getting muscle spasms in her neck from whipping it around so quickly. When he disappeared just before lunch on Thursday, she shouted into the intercom for Mr. Wimple to cover the class. As soon as he rounded the corner, she took off down the hall to nab the little rascal, wherever he was. Mrs. S. finally located him in the basement custodian's office, teaching a group of youngsters how to play blackjack.

Judging by the size of his pile of chips, Brendan obviously had excellent math skills.

Even though she wanted to escort him to the office by his ear, she refrained from touching him. He followed her like a little lamb and took a seat to wait for Mr. Wimple.

When she got home from school, Mrs. S. kicked off her shoes, poured herself a large glass of Chablis and collapsed onto the couch. There was no Mr. Schumacher to encourage her - he worked long hours at his plumbing business - so she gave herself a pep talk, reviewed her lesson plans for Friday and went to bed before nine.

She got an early start and was out the door by 6:45 a.m. Dreading the next disappearing act Brendan would pull, she switched on the 7 a.m. news as a distraction.

"A 9-year-old boy from Minneapolis somehow got by three levels of security at the airport yesterday and flew to Las Vegas by himself. He had managed to get by TSA and gate agents onto the plane. After takeoff, flight attendants became suspicious of the child, who had no ticket and gave his name as, 'Samson Knight.' He stated that his parents were in the back of the plane. "Sam" will be handed over to authorities in Las Vegas for further questioning."

A smile slowly grew on Mrs. Schumacher's face, and she began to hum along with the radio. It would be a good day in Room 214.

- Ermine Cunningham

Ermine Cunningham taught English as a second language to refugee children in Syracuse, N.Y., and is now having a blast in the humor writer biz. She completed a two-year writing program in creative nonfiction at the Downtown Writers Center in 2013. She blogs at Odds & Ends from Ermigal and is putting the final touches on her soon-to-be-published book, Pretend You Know What You're Doing - My Voyage from Teacher to Humor Writer.