It was a Friday morning, the sort of day that, if you were lucky, promised a smooth and educational experience. If you were Marla, however, you knew better than to hope for such luxuries. As an elementary school teacher with years of experience (and well-honed deadpan humor), she knew that field trips were more like ticking time bombs disguised as educational outings. Today’s ticking bomb was set to go off at the local science museum, where her class of fourth-graders was about to experience an exhibit on volcanoes.

The school bus, which smelled of crayons, sweat, and faint desperation, was already filled with the noise of twenty-seven ten-year-olds vibrating with excitement. Marla stood at the front, clipboard in hand, her face set in its usual mask of calm exhaustion. She knew that the clipboard—her trusty field trip companion—was the only thing keeping this situation from spiraling into utter chaos. Without it, she feared she would have no control over the anarchy that lurked just below the surface of every school trip.

“Alright, my little volcano enthusiasts,” Marla called out, her voice slicing through the cacophony. The kids quieted just enough to hear her next words. “Listen up! We’re heading to the science museum, and I need you all to behave like respectable students. That means no running, no yelling, no jumping into the fake lava pits, and—most importantly—no asking the museum staff where they keep the dinosaurs. This is a volcano exhibit, not Jurassic Park.”

A ripple of giggles went through the bus, and Marla allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction. Humor was her greatest weapon in keeping these kids under control, but the effect was always temporary, like putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg.

“Mrs. Marla!” Timmy piped up from the middle of the bus, his hand raised high as if they were still in the classroom. “Do you think the museum has, like, real lava?”

“No, Timmy,” Marla said with a sigh, leaning into her clipboard. “Unfortunately, they don’t have real lava because the museum doesn’t want to burn down. But don’t worry—you’ll still get to see plenty of fake lava, which is almost as cool. Almost.”

Timmy’s face fell as if she’d just told him that Christmas had been canceled. “But fake lava doesn’t burn stuff.”

“Exactly,” Marla said dryly. “That’s kind of the point. Fire insurance is expensive.”

As Timmy slumped back in his seat, one of the girls, Sarah, leaned over and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I bet if we touched real lava, it wouldn’t hurt that bad.”

Marla pinched the bridge of her nose. It was too early for this kind of thinking. “Sarah, real lava is the Earth’s way of saying, ‘Don’t touch me.’ Trust me, it’s bad news.”

“But how do you know?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Because I haven’t touched it,” Marla replied, “which is why I still have all ten fingers.”

The bus erupted into laughter, and Marla allowed herself a small smile. She loved these kids, really she did, but the prospect of taking them into a confined space filled with priceless museum exhibits was enough to make her wonder why she hadn’t pursued a quieter career—like lion taming.

They arrived at the museum without incident, a minor miracle in itself. Marla thanked the universe for sparing her any bus-related catastrophes and turned her attention to the next challenge: getting twenty-seven students safely through the front doors of the museum. She mentally prepared herself for what felt like herding a pack of hyperactive squirrels.

“Okay, troops,” Marla said as she stood in front of the museum’s grand entrance, clipboard still clutched tightly in her hand. “Before we go in, remember the rules: no running, no touching the exhibits, and—above all—no feeding the museum staff. They’re on a very strict diet of sarcasm and despair.”

The kids giggled, and Marla’s heart softened a little. At least they were in a good mood. For now.

Once inside, the class was immediately greeted by the museum’s main attraction: a towering replica of a volcano, complete with simulated lava flows and ominous rumbling sounds. It was impressive, even for a science museum. Marla had to admit that the exhibit designers had outdone themselves.

“Wow,” Timmy breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. “Do you think it’ll explode?”

“Not unless someone does something incredibly stupid,” Marla muttered under her breath. She knew her class well enough to recognize the gleam of mischief in their eyes. She needed to keep them focused on the educational part of the trip before things got out of hand. “Alright, everyone, let’s head to the interactive displays. Remember, science is fun, but it’s even more fun when we don’t break things.”

The kids dispersed like marbles dropped on a tile floor, darting from one exhibit to another. Marla did her best to keep them in her line of sight, but she knew it was only a matter of time before someone tested the boundaries of “hands-on learning.”

Just as she was about to round up the stragglers, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting a message from the school office or maybe a reminder about lunch. Instead, it was from Bobby.

Bobby: Hey, guess what? I’m at the museum too! You’ll never guess what I brought with me!

Marla’s stomach dropped. Bobby was one of her oldest friends, and while she loved him dearly, his definition of “fun” often involved fire, explosions, or, at the very least, a significant mess.

Marla: Please tell me you didn’t bring another “science experiment” to the museum.

Bobby: Oh, I did! It’s gonna be awesome. I’m outside the volcano exhibit right now. See you in five!

“Fantastic,” Marla muttered aloud. “This day just keeps getting better.”

She was about to text Bobby a stern does not to bring that experiment in here when another familiar figure walked into the exhibit. Frankie, Marla’s other close friend, and the self-appointed “cleanup crew” whenever Bobby got too carried away, was making her way toward the group, wearing an apologetic smile.

“Hey, Marla,” Frankie said, her voice filled with that special brand of awkwardness that only came from knowing disaster was on the horizon. “So, uh, Bobby might have roped me into this.”

“Frankie, please tell me you didn’t help him with whatever harebrained scheme he’s cooked up this time,” Marla said, crossing her arms. She wasn’t angry, exactly, but she knew that Frankie tended to go along with Bobby’s wild ideas in the hopes of mitigating the damage. It never worked.

“I tried to stop him,” Frankie said, her hands raised in defense. “But he was so excited! Technically, it’s just a little science experiment. It’s not like he’s going to blow anything up.”

“Frankie, do you remember the backyard BBQ incident?”

Frankie winced. “The one where he set the grill on fire with the vinegar and baking soda volcano? Yeah. But this time he swears it’s safe.”

“Uh-huh,” Marla said, her skepticism palpable. “And what, exactly, is his definition of ‘safe’ this time?”

Before Frankie could answer, the doors to the exhibit burst open, and in strode Bobby, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who had just entered a science museum carrying a suspiciously large bucket.

“Hey, Marla!” Bobby called, waving enthusiastically with his free hand. “You’re just in time for the big event!”

Marla felt the familiar sense of impending doom wash over her. She crossed her arms tighter, her clipboard now feeling more like a shield against the madness. “Bobby, what are you doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Bobby said with a grin. “I thought the kids would appreciate a real-life demonstration of a volcano erupting. So, I brought my homemade volcano kit!”

“That’s not a kit, Bobby. That’s a bucket,” Marla pointed out.

“Ah, but what’s in the bucket,” Bobby said with a twinkle in his eye, “that’s the magic.”

Marla closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What, exactly, is in the bucket?”

“Oh, just the usual stuff—baking soda, vinegar, some food coloring, and a few Mentos for extra fun,” Bobby said, setting the bucket down in the middle of the exhibit. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this totally under control.”

Marla felt her blood pressure rise. “Bobby, the last time you said you had something ‘under control,’ we had to call the fire department.”

“Hey, that was a fluke! This time, it’s foolproof,” Bobby insisted, already pouring a generous amount of baking soda into the bucket.

The kids, sensing something exciting was about to happen, gathered around Bobby with wide eyes. To them, Bobby was the king of science experiments, a real-life mad scientist who made school fun in ways their textbooks never could.

“Are we gonna see an explosion?” one of the kids asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

“No, no explosions,” Marla interjected quickly. “Absolutely no explosions.”

“Yeah, totally safe,” Bobby agreed, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise. He added the vinegar with a flourish, then dropped in the food coloring, turning the concoction a deep, unsettling shade of red.

Marla knew it was only a matter of seconds before things went south. She glanced at Frankie, who had already taken a few cautious steps backward. Smart move.

Bobby reached into his pocket and produced a pack of Mentos. Marla’s eyes widened in horror. “Bobby, don’t you dare—”

But it was too late. With the kids chanting excitedly around him, Bobby dropped the Mentos into the bucket.

For a moment, nothing happened. The mixture fizzed and bubbled in an anticlimactic fashion. Bobby looked slightly disappointed, as though he had expected a much bigger reaction. But then, like a geyser that had been waiting for the right moment, the volcano erupted—literally.

A fountain of red foam shot out of the bucket, splattering across the exhibit and covering the floor in what could only be described as a sticky, slippery, disaster zone.

The kids screamed—not in fear, but in sheer, unbridled joy. To them, this was the best thing that had ever happened on a field trip. They immediately began sliding through the foam, treating the museum like their personal slip-and-slide.

“Woooo! It’s like a lava party!” Timmy shouted, skidding across the floor with his arms flailing wildly.

“Lava surfing!” another kid yelled as he slid past a horrified Frankie.

Marla, who had been standing just far enough away to avoid the initial splash, watched in horror as the chaos unfolded. Bobby, of course, was grinning like a maniac, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Isn’t this great?” Bobby shouted over the noise; his voice full of excitement.

Marla’s jaw clenched. “Great? You’ve turned the museum into a foam disaster! This is not how volcanoes work!”

Bobby shrugged, unbothered by the impending fallout. “Hey, it’s educational! The kids are learning about chemical reactions and the unpredictability of natural forces!”

“They’re learning how to break their necks sliding on foam!” Marla snapped. She turned to Frankie, who was desperately trying to pull a kid out of the foam pit without falling in herself. “Frankie, help me control this mess before the museum bans us for life!”

Frankie, her hands covered in foam, nodded and immediately slipped, landing flat on her back with a wet thud. “I’m fine!” she called out, trying to regain her composure as a few kids surfed past her on their knees.

Marla took a deep breath, trying to keep her cool. She looked around at the foam-covered chaos, realizing there was no salvaging this situation. The kids were having the time of their lives, completely oblivious to the disaster they were creating, while Bobby stood at the center of it all, looking like a proud parent watching his child take their first steps—except his child was an out-of-control volcano experiment.

At that moment, a museum security guard appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. “What… happened here?”

Marla forced a smile, trying to summon the last ounce of her teacherly professionalism. “We had a bit of an... unplanned eruption. Don’t worry, we’ll get it cleaned up.”

The guard stared at her for a long moment, then at the foam-covered exhibits, and finally at the kids who were still sliding around like seals on an oil slick. He sighed. “Just… make sure they don’t break anything.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Marla to deal with the aftermath.

An hour later, after every last bit of foam had been mopped up and the kids had been corralled back onto the bus (some still covered in red splotches of food coloring), Marla collapsed into her seat, exhausted but strangely content.

“You know,” Frankie said, sitting down beside her and wiping foam out of her hair, “that could have been worse.”

“How?” Marla asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, at least no one caught on fire this time,” Frankie pointed out.

Marla laughed, despite herself. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

Bobby, who had been sitting across the aisle, leaned over with a sheepish grin. “So… next time, maybe no Mentos?”

Marla shot him a look but couldn’t help but smile. “Bobby, next time, maybe no science experiments.”

“Deal,” Bobby said, holding up his hands in surrender.

As the bus pulled away from the museum, leaving behind the scene of their latest adventure, Marla realized that while the day hadn’t gone according to plan, it had certainly been memorable. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.