Student 006267 carried a notebook full of stories and poems, the sorts of confessions she never wanted her mom to read. Her mom was a well-intentioned, small woman worried about her daughter. 006267 kept the notebook in the back pocket of her backpack where she knew no one would look. When lunch came around, or a class was particularly slow, she pulled out the notebook and started writing. More often than not, the teachers thought she was paying attention, dutifully taking notes. One teacher caught glimpses of the notebook as she passed through the rows of desks. 006267 was one she wanted to help, but knew she was beyond assistance. The entries were mostly quick observations or funny quotes she overheard during the day. There were no sketches, just words. Words that piled on top of the words she was fed every day. When she would go home, her mom would add to the words, pushing an incalculable weight onto her shoulders. She liked to avoid home as much as possible. The notebook added about one pound to the mass of her backpack. At the end of every class period, she shoved everything into her bag and pushed herself into the throng of students in the halls. Another body to be lost in the rush of thousands in the hallway, she became just a body with books, no longer a person. She, like all the others, was quickly forgotten as the new group of kids walked in and took the teacher's attention for the next fifty minutes.

The things they carried were determined by convenience more than necessity. Everyone carried an ID hung by a metal beaded chain around their necks. Some put a sticker over their face to conceal an embarrassing picture. These weighed no more than one ounce but hung like lead. 008775 had a caffeine addiction from years of working in a coffee shop. She carried a cup of coffee that never seemed to be empty and never spilled a drop. 007319, who enjoyed the pleasure of his own company, carried hand sanitizer for clean up after class. 006267 had a small stash of hand wipes and only used them if she worked in a group with 007319. 006631 carried Vicodin from knee surgery last year. He handed it out like PEZ for a five-dollar-a-pill price tag. He knew how to cheat the system. He was a "good kid" and overlooked by all the other teachers. The teacher tried to talk sense into him one day and was met with a glazed stare. After that, she just stopped trying.

007777, who called herself double-o-seven, was careless and carried a pocket-sized green jade Buddha. It didn't do anything to help her karma when she found herself pregnant at the beginning of the school year. 007616, who got double-o-seven pregnant, always carried condoms and breath mints. He carried the denial that the baby was his. His condoms didn't break. He carried a couple hundred bucks he had tried to give her to have an abortion. The miscommunication between boys and girls at this age couldn't be bridged with money.

They all carried cell phones that were permitted to exist but prohibited to be used during the school day. Until she went into labor early, double-o-seven carried the sense that she was unbreakable. 006267 carried a medal from a long dead grandfather. 007319 carried an eighth of an ounce of pot in a 35mm film canister.

006631 carried car keys and a speeding ticket. Double-o-seven, who was unbreakable, carried a sonogram photo of her baby as proof that she wasn't just getting fat. On most nights, 008775 carried pounds of coffee to and from counters at work. One of these nights, she slipped on just-spilled coffee, breaking her wrist on the hard tiled floor.

What they carried depended on vanity. Some stuffed bags with an extra ten pounds of make-up, brushes, perfume, and deodorant. Others took the bare necessities of books and pens. Because their dispositions could change so quickly, they carried an endless reserve of "fuck you-s" to hand out at will. This came in very handy when double-o-seven went into labor early in the class she and 007616 shared. She covered him in "fuck you" as the pain increased and they sat waiting for the ambulance to come.

Almost everyone carried photographs. 006267 carried a picture of her and her dog, sitting on the front porch. 006267 was wearing a skirt, much to her mom's liking. The smile was one of the last few honest ones she would have. Her mom points this picture out to her every chance she gets. "See, you look nice in a skirt. You should wear them more often. Just try a little bit to look nice." She leaves the picture in her backpack to hide it from her mom now. She's often reminded of who and what she should be.

All the students carried a backpack of some sort. The most popular was a double-strapped, multipocket Jansport, or some sort of sling pack. The most popular color was black. Most were decorated with patches, safety pins, stitching, or Wite-Out. They referenced songs and movies. 006267 simply wrote "The Beauty's in the Breakdown" across the flap of her messenger bag. A simple message to the masses in the hallways. The teacher kept her eye on that bag and on the girl's face to help her gauge the kind of day the kids would have. 006631 carried his bag on his left side because of a bum right knee. 006454 and 007173 carried nothing at all but a pen in a pocket and a chip on a shoulder from too many years repeating the same classes.

Their bags weighed anywhere from seven to twenty-one pounds, depending on the books they did or didn't lug around. They had little input on what books the classes assigned and how often they would need to bring the books to class. Double-o-seven had all but given up carrying anything but her baby and its extra weight to class. She had already gained twenty-five pounds of baby and fluid when she went into labor in room 214. The teacher looked up from giving notes to a face winced in horror and pain. Double-o-seven was loaded down when she sank onto the floor in a pile of sweat, amniotic fluid, and unweighted embarrassment. She lightened her load some as she hurled "fuck you-s" at 007616. He carried the burden with his head in his hands. There were no disembodied screams that filled the room, no pleading for her mom.

Double-o-seven was not like the women giving birth on TV. She maintained her pain in her anger. The teacher knew she would not handle it so well, that she would be screaming at the top of her lungs. The controlled rage seemed to pulsate off double-o-seven and fill the room. She was a bottle waiting to explode, if only 007616 would get close enough to hit.

She became the focus as the teacher hit the red emergency call button and blurted, a little louder than she intended, "Call an ambulance." The students all backed away as the paramedics lifted double-o-seven onto the stretcher, still cursing at 007616. The dark spot on the carpet was covered by the janitor whose keys jingled on his hip. The teacher smiled at him apologetically. She wished she could steer her students' lives more carefully, could help them make the choices that would keep life from slipping out from under them.

They carried the weight of witnessing double-o-seven's pain in front of them. 006631 gave Vicodin to the boys in the back. He gave two to 007616, free of charge, to help block out the last twenty minutes. The teacher saw their hands sliding in and out of each other and paid it no attention. She almost wished they would offer her one, too. They carried the denial that any of this could happen to them.

When 006631 was caught for dealing drugs on school property, he expected a suspension, a ticket. He got a year of therapy and a stint in rehab. He got his parents' disappointment and shame. He hid behind his tears as his roommate in rehab forced him not to scream as he fondled him. When he returned to school the following semester, the teacher would receive this information in a confidential report, file it in the list of sensitive subjects she tried not to speak of with her students, and try to avoid eye contact that would indicate she knew anything of what he had been through.

006267 carried her parent's expectations of perfection and her sister's legacy to live up to. She carried a guitar pick from the only boy who had ever kissed her and walked away, never to speak to her again. She carried it partially to remember him and partially as proof that someone had touched her once. She wrote this in her notebook. The pick was undetectable in her pocket, but it filled her memory like a boulder, pulling her down with its existence.

After the ambulance took double-o-seven away, 006267 took the guitar pick out of her pocket and examined it at the lunch table. She gave it to 007616 because he needed something small to concentrate on. Something smaller than the 7 pound 8 ounce baby sitting in the hospital across town and because she didn't want to be double-o-seven. She took out her notebook and put it all in there. The way the carpet looked like a black hole had started under double-o-seven and threatened to swallow them as it grew underneath her. There is no doubt they heard the surety in the teacher's voice as she told them all to stay in their seats and saw the uncontrollable trembling of her hands; they didn't say anything, and she pretended to be unaffected. It all went in the notebook, she's sure of it. She wonders if 006267 captured how the sun filtered through the trees outside and bounced off the desks. And how all they could hear was the "fuck you" double-o-seven shot at 007616 and didn't get in trouble for. They carried that "fuck you" around like a badge.

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