A female teacher looked at the clock, then at her fifteen-year-old student standing in the doorway.
“Why are you late again?”
The boy smiled sheepishly.
“Ma’am, I had a dream I was playing football.”
The teacher sighed.
“That’s not an excuse for being late.”
The boy grinned.
“I know, ma’am. But I couldn’t leave the game.”
The teacher raised an eyebrow.
“Why not?”
“I scored the winning goal.”
A few students laughed.
The teacher crossed her arms.
“And that took you all morning?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then why were you late?”
The boy pointed at his desk.
“Because I was waiting for the penalty shootout to finish.”
The entire class burst out laughing.
The teacher tried not to smile.
“Sit down before you dream yourself into detention.”
The boy nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then he quietly added,
“Hopefully, tomorrow I dream we’re playing at your house.”
The teacher stared at him.
The class exploded with laughter again.
“Out!”
The boy laughed as he stepped back into the hallway.
“See you tomorrow, ma’am!”
And the teacher shook her head, smiling despite herself.
“Fifteen years old,” she muttered. “Already a professional excuse-maker.”
