I still remember the way James eyed me down last Monday as he moved the Kit Kat across the desk.

“What are you willing to offer?” He raised an eyebrow and squinted his eyes.

My hands were already sticky from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had for lunch, and the moisture developing in my palms didn’t help. Don’t show him, I thought. You got this.

I glared into his dark blue eyes and refused to look at the chocolate bar. “How do I know I can trust you?” I asked.

James tilted his head back, cackled, then stopped abruptly and leaned in. “My product is some of the finest this class has ever seen. Heck, the finest this 4th grade has ever seen!” He paused. “So really, what choice do you have?”

“I have plenty,” I assured, though he and I knew I had none. I stole a glance at the rainbow clock on the wall. Recess was over and we both sensed it. Panting and chatty, our competitors filed into the room and took their seats.

“Well then,” he snickered as he sat back in his chair, “get back to me when those options run out.”

I dug my nails into the plastic baggie of cut up apples in my hand, took out my favorite Powerpuff Girls folder, and did my best not to show how upset I was when my nail polish came off or even look in his direction. With one last bit of guts, right as Mrs. Greener was about to start, I turned to him and whispered, “not gonna happen.”

I really hope he didn’t notice I clenched my apples into sauce.

 

We live in a world of battle, of roughness, a world where dogs eat dogs for some reason that my dad tried to explain to me but honestly I don’t get. Snack trade in TED Elementary School is no exception, and James is one of those weird dogs who eats other dogs. See, James’s parents lets him eat junk food. And when I say junk food, we’re talking M&Ms, jawbreakers, barbeque chips, Laffy Taffies, the works. I’m not even sure if his parents pack him anything else for lunch. The rest of us trade too, but we never get that stuff; our parents only pack us healthy stuff, like broccoli and organic PB&Js. We all want to trade with James, and he knows it.

My name’s Kaylie. It used to be Kayla, and my mom says it sounds more mature that way, but I like Kaylie better. I’m eight and three quarters. I don’t have any pets but I have a lot of stuffed animals, and I really don’t like math. I have a lot of friends in my class, even some boys, but James is not one of them. I don’t even think James has any friends because he’s so mean and sometimes a little scary.

And you know what? I don’t think I’m okay with James trading so much of our lunches with so little of his stupid junk food. Last Monday pushed me to think that it’s time to take a stand against James.
No more trades of five dried apple pieces to a Bazooka. No more tuna sandwiches for three jellybeans. No more eating dogs!

 

I march into class today with a plan that I’ve been thinking up all weekend scribbled on a piece of blue construction paper. My heart races as I reach into my bag for Operashin J.

“What is that?” my friend Alice nudges me, pointing at the paper.

“Shhhh!” I warn her. “It’s top secret!” I look over to see if James walked in yet, and once I see the coast is clear, I hand Alice the paper. “Pass it on, but be careful, okay? I don’t want Mrs. Greener to see and ruin everything.”

I think Alice understands how serious I am, because she nods and makes it look like she isn’t even holding anything. Her eyes widen as she reads, and she’s starting to smile. “This… this is going to be awesome,” she declares, and she taps Benji on the shoulder and passes it to him under the table. “Let’s do this.”

The plan for Operashin J is simple. All we need to do is convince our parents that it’s our turn to bring the food for the class party, and that there can’t be anything else besides for junk food, because Mrs. Greener is on a special diet. This will work because grown-ups always have the weirdest diets ever. Once we have the huge bags of junk food, we bring them to school and trade with each other every day. No one will want to trade with James, because he’s not fair and everyone else will be fairer. This’ll show him who’s boss, and we get to keep our lunches!

All the kids in the class want to join in, and most of our parents believe the party thing and buy food special for “Mrs. Greener’s diet.” Benji’s mom is even buying a huge bag of lollipops! We’re so lucky so have all those suckers.

 

Recess does not start nearly soon enough on Tuesday. “The dog is in the potato,” Alice speaks into her sleeve when the bell rings. “I repeat, the dog is in the potato. Pass it on. Everyone take your places.”

“Okay, okay, who’s first?” James announces when Mrs. Greener leaves the room, dumping all his junk food onto the table.

“I am.” I step forward. I gulp but look him straight in the eyes like I practiced with my teddy bear. “Whaddya got?”

James grins. “I have… one Reese’s’ Cup up for trade. What are you willing to offer?”

All according to plan. “One apple slice. Do we have a deal?”

“One slice?” he counters. “What makes you think I’d accept that rip-off??”

“Fine,” I sigh. “I guess I’ll have to take my business somewhere else.”

Before he can argue or make a mean comment I’ve turned around and walked toward Mina.

“Mina? What are you willing to trade one Reese’s Cup for?”

“Let’s see…” Mina pretends to count on her fingers. “One Cup for… one apple slice? Does that sound fair?”

“Why yes it does. Thank you Mina.” I glance at James. His eyebrows are scrunched and his mouth is gaped open, and his eyebrows scrunch harder when Mina takes a ginormous bag of Reese’s Cups out of her knapsack.

“Where—“ James starts to shout, then uses his indoor voice. “Where did you get that?”

“Same place you did, James,” I explain, shrugging my shoulders. “Her mom.”

James looks down at his toes, fumbles with his sweatshirt strings, and mumbles, “well then.” I can’t explain why, but now I kind of almost feel bad…

“Well then,” he repeats, clearing his voice and raising his head, “I guess I’ll just have to deal without your gross lunches and eat all this chocolate by myself!”

Nope. No more feeling bad. Operashin J is a go.

 

**
“… James no longer had any power to abuse, and eventually he left TED. My experience of defending my classmates opened up a brand new world to me, one that eventually led to my pursuit of law. I look forward to being able to protect underdogs from corrupt businessmen in the larger world, those even more unjust and power-hungry than this 4th grade bully. I hope I can pursue these dreams by studying pre-law at your prestigious university.”

 

**
She’s walking to her first college class right now. Holy shit, Kayla exclaims to herself. Her name is Kayla.

Kayla laughs for a brief second and a little hop starts in her step on her way to her Intro PoliSci seminar. She grasps the straps of her backpack and glances at her map. Hamilton Hall, room 309. The stained wood walls have sucked all the air out of the classroom, and the room is roughly the size of her bedroom at home. She tells herself it’s cozy. This is good. This is fine. This is college.

Luckily for Kayla, she’s the first one to get to class, so she gets to choose her seat around the table. She shuffles her papers aimlessly until she hears someone walk in. This girl has plain brown eyes, warm and not too mischievous. Fine. Kayla deems her trustworthy.

“Hi!” Kayla reaches out her hand. “I’m Kayla.”

Brown Eyes accepts the shake and gives a slight smile. “Tina, nice to meet you.” Tina takes the seat a couple of spaces away.

“You too!”

The conversation is over, Kayla can tell, and she congratulates herself on successfully maneuvering her first PoliSci interaction. Next step, law school.

A boy walks in. His dark blue eyes drown Kayla in complexity and mystique. She senses something sad. A fleck of mischief. Kindness slightly creasing in on the corner. He looks over at Kayla and smiles, one of those smiles that wrap you in a hug and tell you the sun’ll come out tomorrow. “Hi,” he says while reaching out his hand. “I’m James.”

Except Kayla doesn’t extend her hand in return. She just gapes at those eyes, her lips parted and brows tight as if she just discovered a haunting ghost.

“You… you okay?” James asks politely.

“You’re… yeah,” Kayla mumbles, regaining consciousness. She shakes her head. “Yeah. Um. I’m Kayla.”

“Nice to meet you,” James says, grinning and giving a quick salute. He walks over to the seat next to Kayla and settles down. At this point, she’s avoiding eye contact at all costs. James chooses not to be offended, because, hey, college is weird.

Over the next ten minutes, the rest of the class and the professor file in, but the entire time Kayla stares at the blinking typing line on her blank Word document titled “First Semester Notes.” Her fingers rest on the keyboard. Occasionally a finger twitches. Occasionally James catches her stealing a glance at him.

The professor clears her throat and stands up at the head of the table. “Welcome to Intro to Political Science!” she exclaims, gesturing toward the class title she had already written on the board. “My name is Professor Greener.”

At this, James and Kayla look down and let out a chuckle. The room is tiny, so every single sound is magnified. They stop themselves abruptly. James, mortified, tries to transition his chuckle into a cough. The rest of the class isn’t buying it, but Professor Greener chooses to ignore it. Kayla knits her brows. James wonders why Kayla also laughed, but doesn’t think about it too hard. As an effort to comfort her over the awkward shared outburst, he sends her a grin and a shrug. Kayla replies with a weak smile. She seems to tense up more.

“Political Science is not an easy class, I’ll let you know that from the beginning,” Professor Greener continues, and the rest of the class lets out their own nervous laughter. She smiles in return and adjusts her glasses. “This class may drive you up the wall, and two things will help you stay grounded: one, knowing your classmates; and two, remembering why you chose to take the class. So, as an icebreaker, let’s go around; say your name, where you’re from, your intended major, and why you chose to take the class. Let’s start with you, dear,” she suggests, and she smiles at the girl sitting next to her.

Kayla’s breath gets shallow and her stomach tightens. Her inner self commands her to keep cool. One by one, the students around the table introduce themselves, but Kayla keeps staring at the blinking line in her Word document, even though the document at this point has proven itself useless.

“Hi, I’m James.”

Her glance drifts towards him then she reverts her eyes back to the screen.

“I’m from Indiana, originally from Connecticut. My intended major is political science, and I hope to go to law school after undergrad, but I guess that depends how this class goes,” he says, grinning. The classmates laugh. Kayla remains frozen.

“I chose to take this class because I want to go to law school, basically, and I want to go to law school because… Well, it’s a long, boring story. The short version is that in fourth grade I was convicted as a bully because I used to enact these crazy unfair trades to get the other kids’ healthy lunches. Yeah, I was a fourth grade mastermind,” he nods and laughs. “The point is, the other kids formed this alliance against me, vilified me, and prevented me from ever eating healthy because my parents were irresponsible idiots who… um, sorry, beside the point. I’ll keep this one light and shut up soon.”

All eyes are on James. The room is getting stuffier. Kayla can barely breathe.

“Anyway, yeah, so from then on I knew that I needed to protect the underdog, to defend that guy who even adults malign without considering he needs help. Basically, I guess I’m another kid who wants to save the world,” James concludes, shrugging and smiling sheepishly.

“Very nice. Thanks, James,” Professor Greener moves her gaze to Kayla, who at this point looks kind of like she watched someone get hit by a truck. “Are… are you okay dear?”

Kayla closes her gaping mouth, shuts her eyes for a second, and shakes her head. “Yeah, uh… yeah, I’m fine, sorry. Um, okay. I’m Kayla, I’m from Connecticut…” As she speaks her eyes find James’ pen. It’s dog themed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, sorry, I was just, um… sorry, what were the questions again?”

“Intended major?”

Kayla takes a deep breath. “Sorry, okay. Political Science, same as James.” She attempts to smile in his direction.

Professor Greener’s patience is wearing thin. “And why did you choose this major?”

James is staring at her now, thoughts racing through his dark blue eyes.

“I, um…” Kayla turns to James for a moment then darts away once their eyes meet. She takes short breaths. Imagines running out of the classroom, running back to that classroom way back in the fourth grade, taking out a piece of construction paper and a crayon, and redrafting her life. Operashin K, she would call it. Even after all these years of Operashin J…

She’s paused for a weird amount of time now, and now they’re all staring at her.

“Sorry, um. I’m not sure. I’m not really sure why.”

“You may want to try to find out,” Professor Greener says, moving on to the next student.

James rips off a piece of notebook paper, scribbles on it, and moves it across the desk. Kayla looks down at the piece of paper then up at him. He grins mischievously, one eyebrow raised. Fingers trembling, Kayla opens the note.

“Kaylie? That you?”