From that day on, Monkey Mart wasn't a secret. It was a . Each week, one student was named "Monkey Mart Manager," in charge of delivering a single, teacher-approved snack to Mico’s drawer.
“Fresh delivery from Monkey Mart,” Marcus whispered, sliding a miniature shopping cart (made from an old gum wrapper and a bent paperclip) toward the drawer. Inside: a single chocolate chip, a raisin, and a drop of yogurt.
“He was mine,” she said. “From my first year teaching. He likes the raisin best, by the way.”
Panic erupted. Sofia tried to close the drawer, but Mico had rolled the raisin into the track. The drawer jammed halfway open. Mico froze, wide-eyed, clutching his chocolate chip like a teddy bear.
A tiny, squeaky “ Peh-chew! ”
She was coming back.
