She lifts herself onto the sill, pulling with her arms. The breeze blows in from behind her, the window having been open for some time. A car drives by on the street four floors below, the bass of a popular song blares from its sunroof. She smiles at me and sways from side to side. I grin and rise from my desk, waving my arms in time to the music. The rest of the class joins in, dancing and laughing, taking advantage of the teacher's absence. The car with its blaring radio has long since driven off. We make a conga line and dance around the class, weaving through the desks and she starts to laugh at us. I can see her as I pass by and she continues to guffaw, her body rocking back and forth. She is careful, gripping the edge of the window. We laugh along with her as we dance.

           Now the door opens and our teacher, furious and red-faced, storms in, shocking us all. The class scrambles to their desks, myself included. I glance through the shuffling bodies and see her expression is as surprised as ours must be. Her mouth is agape. I avert my attention, hurrying to find my seat. I reach it as the teacher hollers loudly. I chance a look towards the open window.

           She is gone.