The boy hurries down the hallway, and then turns into a door on the right. He goes up to one of the small chairs with built-in desks and sits in it. You rest on top of his foot for a few moments as you catch your breath, but when you look up you see him looking back down at you. You freeze, terrified, as the boy reaches down and grabs you. He looks confused, but not confused enough to have realized that you're alive. He must think you're a doll that got tangled up in his shoelace. He quickly opens his desk, tosses you inside, and closes it. As he tosses you in, you hit your head hard on something made of metal and you black out.
Your consciousness returns gradually. First comes your hearing. You hear garbled and distant words:
"...And so if you carry the one, we have fifty-two plus ten, which is sixty-two."
Next your sight returns, blurred and distorted at first. You're definitely not inside the desk anymore, you can see the rectangular panels that make up the ceiling. Finally, your sense of feeling comes back, and you realize that you are being held. The boy is holding you by your wrists and making you dance around like some sort of living puppet. You see that the boy is using his math book as a barrier so that the teacher can't see what he's doing. You try to call to him, but you can't seem to muster the ability to speak. Your voice comes out as a wheeze that is totally drowned out by the teacher droning on about addition. You can't move your arms at all, and your kicking doesn't really look much different than limp flailing. Your head is still throbbing painfully.
"Jeremy? Are you paying attention?" comes the teacher's voice. The boy looks up, startled, and his hands freeze.
"I asked you a question, Jeremy."
"What was the question again?" the boy, presumably named Jeremy, asks. The teacher sighs.
"Never mind. I'll ask someone who was listening to me. Bear in mind that this will be on your next quiz, Jeremy, you're only hurting yourself by ignoring class."
Jeremy was apparently quite badly spooked by the experience, so he starts playing with you much more hesitantly, shooting furtive glances down at you while maintaining his gaze passively on the chalkboard.
"Yes, Katie?" the teacher said at one point, apparently calling on the girl behind and to the right of Jeremy.
"Jeremy's playing with dolls in class," Katie said. What a tattletale.
"That might help explain his lack of focus. Show me the toy, Jeremy."
What does Jeremy do?
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