The home economics classroom was silent as the teacher finished yet another boring lecture. It was a dreary day, and not a single speck of blue sky could be seen under the thick, dark blanket of clouds. That, when paired with the emotionless monotone of the teacher's voice, made sitting through the class - let alone staying awake - very difficult. As the teacher went on about stitching or kitchen safety or whatever it was she was droning on about, Kyle doodled in his notebook. He was drawing dragons, sketching sorcerers, casually creating creatures and characters of other worlds.

"...big responsibility... so... final project... only assignment... eggs... any questions?"

Silence.

"...partners..."

There was a shuffle as students moved to different seats.

"Odd... Kyle... Kyle?"

Kyle looked up from his doodles and say his teacher looking his way. "Kyle there's nobody left. You can either do this project on your own or join another group." He looked around and, sure enough, the twenty-four other students were divided into twelve groups of two. "Well? Which would you prefer?"

He cleared his throat and started slow and softly, "I guess I'll be on my own."

"Can you handle it?"

He nodded. "Sure."

She nodded. "Very well." She turned around and reached into a box behind her, and retrieved two dozen cartons and one half-dozen carton of large eggs.

"Are they going to hatch?" one of the girls asked excitedly.

The teacher shook her head. "No. They're hard-boiled. This will minimize the mess if one of you drops yours."

"Would they have hatched?" another student asked.

Once again, the teacher shook her head. "No. Don't worry. And the birds they came from are raised cage-free, they are organic, and they were pasteurized. Any other questions?"

Again, silence.

"Good. For the rest of class, start planning who gets the egg when and for how long. On your way out, one person from each group grab an egg and rubric."

So for the rest of class, the groups chatted amongst themselves about anything and everything but their projects, while Kyle began to think up places he could keep his egg to keep it out of harm's way; his house was old and it seemed as though everything was rickety and wobbly, built so close to the train tracks the house shook whenever a train passed, the exact opposite of where anyone in their right mind would put something important and delicate. He supposed he could keep it on his bed or in a cup in the refrigerator and make sure his mother, father, and uncle knew it was not for eating. When the bell rang, everyone stood up and went to get their project, the group members standing side-by-side. Kyle got to the back of the line, hoping that maybe there would not be enough eggs and that he would get an alternate assignment.

"The eggs are colorful!" one of the girls exclaimed.

"Yes," said the teacher, "I dyed and decorated them so I'll know if the egg I'm giving you is the egg I'm getting back. I'm sick and tired of kids trying to bring me an egg from home or someone else's egg."

So one by one the eggs and rubrics were taken, until Kyle got to the front of the line and noticed that one remained. It was very large, and the same shade of purple as a chunk of amethyst.

"Hoping I'd run out, weren't you?" his teacher droned in a patronizing tone.

He nodded. "Yeah, not gonna deny it." He gently picked up the egg. It had some heft to it, and was nice and smooth. "This a crocodile egg or something?"

"Ha ha," the teacher mock laughed. "Y'oughta get to class." She handed him the rubric. "You have to put up with it for two weeks. I'll see my egg back then."

Kyle nodded and walked out the door, clutching the paper in one hand, carefully cradling the egg in the other.

So the rest of the day dragged on, and by the end of the day he heard a few stories of kids dropping or losing their eggs already. He would be more careful, he told himself, so careful in fact that he would not even take the bus; he had a problem with bullies on the bus, and they had picked up his things before and tossed them around, and so he assumed they would do the same with this precious egg of his. When the bell rang and the bulk of the students hurried to the buses or their cars, he went the opposite way, out the back with the few kids who lived close enough to walk. He lived about an hour and a half's walk away if he took the sidewalks and the streets, but he knew he could cut down the walk by about a half hour to forty-five minutes if he went straight through the woods that separated the good part of town, where the school was, to the almost rural part of town few people ever ventured into unless they were visiting family or sneaking into the abandoned houses that dotted the area to do drugs or hold their secret club meetings, or whatever it was they did there. The skies were still dreary, and one or two fat drops of rain fell every now and then, which made Kyle worry that he would come across puddles of mud or slippery surfaces in the woods. He still had time to change his mind, but in the end decided to chance a walk through the woods.

The woods had been there longer than anything else in the town. There were a few crops of trees here and there in town, but many of them had been brought in and planted as smaller, more manageable trees to give the town a nicer, more environmentally friendly look. The woods he lived beyond were old. There was a whole variety of trees: birches, oaks, sycamores, pines, and so forth. In the spring before the ground vegetation took over and made walking impossible, it was a very beautiful place to wander around. At that time, however, it was later in autumn, so all the vines and shrubs that choked the area were gone for the winter, and fallen leaves created a thick carpet.

He started across the long field behind the school, crossed a narrow street that few people drove down, slipped through an old wooden fence, and walked into the woods. Much to his delight, the ground was easy to walk across, and not moist enough for him to slip. Some trees still desperately gripped their leaves, which made it very dark and a bit hard for Kyle to see. Though he had cut through this way before, there was always something unsettling about crossing when the sky was dark to begin with, and the already limited light that reached the Earth was limited even further. He had to walk slowly, because he did not know what was lurking ahead. Every time he heard the rustling of leaves, he stopped and looked around, half-expecting to see a human figure slide behind a tree to hide from him. The light breeze with occasional gust made the leaves rustle frequently, so Kyle stopped frequently. Eventually he walked faster, and walked faster, and walked faster until he was practically sprinting, all the while clutching the egg as if his life depended on it. Eventually he saw the crooked outline of his house, and heaved a sigh of relief. He slowed to a brisk walk and exited the woods, getting on the stone path that led up to an ornate wooden deck grown over with brittle vegetation that had yet to go to sleep. He let himself through then went into the house.

"Sweetie, did you have a substitute bus driver?" came the mellow voice of his mother. She was painting something, and her long dark hair was tied back by a tie-dye bandana.

"Lil' man, you sure had us freaked," his father explained, looking up from his Bonsai tree.

"Nah," Kyle began, still a bit breathless from the walk home, "just didn't want to take the bus. I have a project." He held up the egg for them to see.

Both his parents paused and looked at the egg. They both smiled. "Parenting project, eh?" his father began. "I had to do that once."

His mother added a few more strokes. "When I did it, it was a sack of flour. They're making it harder for you." She shot him a smile. "I'm sure you'll make a great egg daddy."

He hoped in awkward silence she would never say that again. After a moment, he asked, "Where's Uncle Jack?"

"Asleep. Why?"

"I want to make sure he isn't going to eat my egg."

"Now why would you ever think he'd do something like that?" his father demanded, clearly annoyed by the statement."

"Dad, he ate my science project."

There was a pause before his father replied, "You have a good point."

Kyle started up the creaky staircase. "Do you know a good place I can keep it?"

His mother ran her fingers on the bristles of the brush to splatter some paint on the canvas. "You could put a blanket in a shoe box. Or you could put it in the salad crisper, things in there are usually okay when the train passes."

He thought about it for a moment. "I'll probably put it in the shoebox." Then he ascended the staircase to the second floor. He peered through one of the doors and saw his uncle, asleep in his bed, snoring softly. He would have to be told about the assignment later. Kyle turned and started up the next set of stairs, a rickety spiral staircase that went up into an attic that had been repurposed into his bedroom. When he reached the top, he strode another three feet to his bed and retrieve the shoebox that still held his new shoes. He dumped them out, then put one of his blankets in and made it into a safe little nest. He put the egg inside, then slid it back under his bed, where he hoped it would be safe.