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Authors: Ann M. Martin
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coffee grinders. I memorized all the sale prices. Once in awhile, when no one was around, I rang my bell.
Yawn. Boy, did that get boring fast.
From where I was standing, I could see the toy department at the opposite end of the floor. I could hear it, too. Kids were yelling, squealing, bugging their parents.
At the entrance to the department, a small crowd had formed. A bunch of kids were sitting in front of a temporary-looking stage. Across the stage was a curtain.
I walked closer. Soon I could make out a sign that said SILLY SIMON THE CLOWN 10:15, 11:15, 12:15, 1:15.
"Santa! Santa!" a voice piped up.
Every single face in the crowd turned my way. I was caught.
"Ho ho ho!"
I sounded like . . . like a scared girl. I waited for them to shriek with laughter. Hold their noses. Throw wadded-up gift wrap. Silly Simon was going to emerge and bonk me over the head with a rubber chicken.
Then I felt a tug at my jacket. I looked to my left and saw a little girl staring up at me.
"Hi," she said.
I tried to deepen my voice. "Hello, there."
"Can I get a brother?" she asked.
Huh?
My very first kid, and does she ask for a Barbie? A truck? A video?
No. A real, live human being.
I looked at her mom. She was all smiles. She was also very pregnant.
"Oh! A brother! Well, um, you know, sisters are nice, too."
"No, no, no! She'll play with my toys. I hate sisters."
I laughed. "I know how you feel. How old are you?"
She held up four fingers and a bent thumb.
"Well, when your sister or brother is four and a half, you know how old you'll be?"
"Uh-uh."
"Nine."
Her eyes lit up. "Wow! I'll be this tall." She raised her hands high over her head.
"Do you think you'll want to play with the toys you have now?"
"No way, silly." She thought for a moment. "I'll be growed up."
I made a sad face. "Then what will happen to your poor, lonely toys?"
"I can give them to a little girl," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Like if I have a sister."
"Ho ho ho! Great idea!"
" 'Bye!"
Her mom winked at me as the girl pulled her away. "How did you know?" she whispered, patting her tummy.
Boy, was I proud of myself. I guess my BSC training came in handy.
I rang my bell loudly. "Ho ho ho!"
A boy looked up at me through narrow eyes. "I know you're not really Santa."
Gulp.
"Merry Christmas!" was my lame reply.
"You're a helper," he announced.
"Thimbles and thunderstorms!" I replied. "How did you know?"
The boy giggled. Then he gave me a folded-up note. "Could you please give this to your boss?"
"You bet!"
"Thanks! 'Bye!"
Thimbles and thunderstorms? That was an expression I'd read in one of the Chronicles of Narnia books. I couldn't believe it had popped into my head.
I was on a roll. One shy little African-American boy stayed glued to my side for about five minutes, just smiling silently. A girl in an expensive party outfit told me she wanted a real horse, but would settle for a motorcycle. A pair of twins argued over who had been "better" during the year. One boy gave me a brochure with a cover labeled Oliver's Wish List in complex computer graphics. (Inside was an illustrated catalog of gifts.) At one point, Silly Simon brought me onstage in the middle of his show and pulled a red scarf out of my ear.
You know what? When Ms. Javorsky came over to tell me my shift had ended, I begged her to let me stay on awhile longer.
"Are you sure you want to?" she asked. "It's been over four hours."
"Just another half hour or so," I said. "Please? I'll call home to let my parents know."
"All right," Ms. Javorsky said with a chuckle. "Then make sure you go home and get some rest."
"Thanks!"
Get some rest? Who needed rest? I could have stayed there till midnight.
Chapter 12.
Mary Anne.
Dawn can be very creative. When she's not being forgetful and inconsiderate.
On Friday night, after the big argument, I ended up watching TV in the living room with Claudia and Kristy. By the time I got back upstairs, Dawn was
Yawn. Boy, did that get boring fast.
From where I was standing, I could see the toy department at the opposite end of the floor. I could hear it, too. Kids were yelling, squealing, bugging their parents.
At the entrance to the department, a small crowd had formed. A bunch of kids were sitting in front of a temporary-looking stage. Across the stage was a curtain.
I walked closer. Soon I could make out a sign that said SILLY SIMON THE CLOWN 10:15, 11:15, 12:15, 1:15.
"Santa! Santa!" a voice piped up.
Every single face in the crowd turned my way. I was caught.
"Ho ho ho!"
I sounded like . . . like a scared girl. I waited for them to shriek with laughter. Hold their noses. Throw wadded-up gift wrap. Silly Simon was going to emerge and bonk me over the head with a rubber chicken.
Then I felt a tug at my jacket. I looked to my left and saw a little girl staring up at me.
"Hi," she said.
I tried to deepen my voice. "Hello, there."
"Can I get a brother?" she asked.
Huh?
My very first kid, and does she ask for a Barbie? A truck? A video?
No. A real, live human being.
I looked at her mom. She was all smiles. She was also very pregnant.
"Oh! A brother! Well, um, you know, sisters are nice, too."
"No, no, no! She'll play with my toys. I hate sisters."
I laughed. "I know how you feel. How old are you?"
She held up four fingers and a bent thumb.
"Well, when your sister or brother is four and a half, you know how old you'll be?"
"Uh-uh."
"Nine."
Her eyes lit up. "Wow! I'll be this tall." She raised her hands high over her head.
"Do you think you'll want to play with the toys you have now?"
"No way, silly." She thought for a moment. "I'll be growed up."
I made a sad face. "Then what will happen to your poor, lonely toys?"
"I can give them to a little girl," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Like if I have a sister."
"Ho ho ho! Great idea!"
" 'Bye!"
Her mom winked at me as the girl pulled her away. "How did you know?" she whispered, patting her tummy.
Boy, was I proud of myself. I guess my BSC training came in handy.
I rang my bell loudly. "Ho ho ho!"
A boy looked up at me through narrow eyes. "I know you're not really Santa."
Gulp.
"Merry Christmas!" was my lame reply.
"You're a helper," he announced.
"Thimbles and thunderstorms!" I replied. "How did you know?"
The boy giggled. Then he gave me a folded-up note. "Could you please give this to your boss?"
"You bet!"
"Thanks! 'Bye!"
Thimbles and thunderstorms? That was an expression I'd read in one of the Chronicles of Narnia books. I couldn't believe it had popped into my head.
I was on a roll. One shy little African-American boy stayed glued to my side for about five minutes, just smiling silently. A girl in an expensive party outfit told me she wanted a real horse, but would settle for a motorcycle. A pair of twins argued over who had been "better" during the year. One boy gave me a brochure with a cover labeled Oliver's Wish List in complex computer graphics. (Inside was an illustrated catalog of gifts.) At one point, Silly Simon brought me onstage in the middle of his show and pulled a red scarf out of my ear.
You know what? When Ms. Javorsky came over to tell me my shift had ended, I begged her to let me stay on awhile longer.
"Are you sure you want to?" she asked. "It's been over four hours."
"Just another half hour or so," I said. "Please? I'll call home to let my parents know."
"All right," Ms. Javorsky said with a chuckle. "Then make sure you go home and get some rest."
"Thanks!"
Get some rest? Who needed rest? I could have stayed there till midnight.
Chapter 12.
Mary Anne.
Dawn can be very creative. When she's not being forgetful and inconsiderate.
On Friday night, after the big argument, I ended up watching TV in the living room with Claudia and Kristy. By the time I got back upstairs, Dawn was
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