Skipping and S’mores

In the eighth grade, I went to middle school in Florida. They had strange required classes, none of which ever had actual importance. This year, I was taking a computer essentials class, which was just a (VERY) basic introduction to Microsoft Word. Needless to say, I worked much faster than the planned pace of the course, since Microsoft Word is something you should know how to use before you reach eighth grade, so the class became more of a study hall than anything else. During the same hour, my best friend, Megan, was a teacher aide for an environmental science and technology class, which was also just a study hall for her. She texted me and told me that her family had roasted s’mores the night before, and she brought a couple of extras to school. We came up with a whole plan where I told my teacher I needed to make up an assignment for a different class, and then I was roaming free to find Megan’s class. I don’t remember what excuse we gave her teacher for me being there, but whatever we said worked. It was the first time I had ever “ditched” a class(the quotes being there because of how ridiculously ahead I was in said class), and we were having the time of our lives. She pulled out the s’mores, and I suggested we just eat them cold, but she insisted we used the microwave conveniently located in the small office we were hanging out in. She also insisted we stick the ENTIRE s’more, cracker, chocolate, and all in the microwave. I knew the void of common sense existing with that idea, but I didn’t say anything. We went back to our shenanigans, and after about a minute, I looked over at the microwave to see the largest I have ever seen a marshmallow. We rushed over and opened the door to stop any possible marshmallow explosion, and immediately, a rush of smoke came out of the microwave. It smelled terrible. Upon closer inspection, the graham cracker had been charred black, and the chocolate was a puddle at the bottom of the container. Matters were almost made a whole lot worse when Megan grabbed a can of hairspray(which is, in fact, flammable), and almost sprayed it directly into the smoke to try and cover up the smell. This was where I finally stepped in and advocated against the idea, so at least we didn’t set the school on fire. The entire wing of the school smelled like the smoke though, so we were questioned by the teacher of Megan’s class, the principal, and others. We avoided getting into any serious trouble, but that first glorious skipped period was also my last of the year.