1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/TRUMPET EXPOSED

I mean, we all knew the Trumpet saga couldn't last forever, but we enjoyed getting one over on the boys. 
Trumpet, you see, was an elephant, and he lived on our land, 500 acres more or less of grazing and trees for hiding.  The story evolved during a slumber party in 6th grade, when we wanted to have something really fantastic to tell the boys, something they couldn't "one up". 

Boys aren't all that smart in 6th grade.  For instance, one of the boys, bragging that he wasn't sensitive to poion ivy,  had   rolled in it. on a dare from a friend.  Too late for him, he found out that he was allergic to it after all.  He missed two weeks of school and swelled up like a toad according to the boy who made the dare.

 So they didn't seem to quite believe us, but they had no way to prove it wasn't the truth.

They couldn't drive the 10 miles to my house, and the girls agreed to present a united front.  They couldn't crack it. 

Until they decided to take it to a higher power.

"Felisa," Mr. Mullins, our principal, approached me pleasantly one day after lunch. 

"Yes sir?" I answered like he'd asked me a question, which he hadn't--yet.

"Some of the boys tell me you have an elephant at your place."  I gulped, mentally arranging my thoughts and a possible answer.  "Is that true?"

If he'd asked any other way, asked another question, maybe I could have avoided telling the truth, but it was always known in my family that I'd squeal like a spy with bamboo shoots under her fingernails.  I squirmed, looked toward the cafeteria tables filled with boys and girls my age, all in my imagination, looking directly at me, the girls shocked, the boys spurious.

"No sir, we don't really have an elephant.  It was just a madeup story to fool the boys.  Did they tell you?"

He smiled.  "Oh, I see."  That's all.  He saw.

 Of course I now felt like a spy who'd spilled her guts.

And Mr. Mullins would probably think "liar" every time he saw me now.  It was not an auspicious feeling.  I slumped a little, drug the heels of my loafers as I walked slowly out the double doors to the playground. 

"What did Mr. Mullins want?" Nilene asked me as soon as I exited the cafeteria. 

Blinded by the sunlight and the bright flash of her silver braces reflected from her teeth, I hesitated a second.

"What did he say, what did he say?" she wheedled.

"Give me a minute," I said, stalling.  "Well, he asked about Trumpet."
. 
"And?.........  Did you tell him the truth?"

"Yes, I had to," I said, defending myself quickly against another onslaught of questions and accusations.
"I couldn't lie to the principal.  And anyway, if I had, he'd have just called my parents, and then what trouble would I be in?"

She considered this for a second, and in her usual good humor, scoffed, "Well, it was good while it lasted.  We got those stupid boys.  I can't believe they even fell for it.  It was so unbelievable."

"Do you think anyone else will be mad at me for spilling the story?" I asked, slightly unsure of myself.

"Heck, no.  They were just glad you went along with it.  Nobody else would have done it.  It was fun-now on to other things," she said, lauging, running wildly away, swerving this way and that, her blonde curls making tight rings on her head,  sweat soaking them.

Other girls came out on the playground, and one by one, they were informed that our ruse was up.  While disappointed, they didn't blame me.  In fact, they all said they would have done the same thing.  But later that afternoon, when the boys tried to take pride in the fact of exposing our little story, the girls joined ranks like I had never seen, and to a girl, they put the boys down in a way that practically  made them squeak.  Trumpet was never mentioned again after that day, certainly not by the boys, and only by the girls at slumber parties when we considered whether we could ever pull off a lie as seamlessly as we pulled off that one against the boys.