brusquely.
“Well,
what can I do to show you how sorry I am?” he asked persistently. I stood
there, one finger on my cheek, my head cocked to one side like I was thinking
really hard.
“Oh,
I got it. Why don’t you return every single pencil I ever lent you, and I’ll
think about it,” I said finally.
I
wasn’t expecting him to smile and reach into his jeans pocket. I took a step
back as paranoia kicked in. Maybe he was pulling out a gun! Or something...
With
a flourish, he held up my blue polar bear pencil, looking as good as new.
“That’s
my-,” I started, staring at it but making no move to touch it.
“Yeah.
Your lucky pencil,” Luke said softly, smiling as he handed it to me.
I
took it, feeling like I was dreaming. My pencil! You guys probably think
I’m stupid, going gaga over a little pencil, but it held sentimental value to
me. My three year old niece (Nate’s baby girl) had won it at the West Indian
Carnival last year and she had given it to me as a ‘pwesent’. Two days later,
she was dead. She suffocated in her sleep and I was the one who found her.
Unwanted
tears filled my eyes as I looked up at Luke, who frowned at me slightly.
“I
thought you said you lost it,” was all I could think of to say.
“I
looked all over my room till I found it. How about that? Did I rock your socks
or what?” he asked. “Looks like I did- are you crying?”
“No,”
I said stoically, blinking back tears. “I really have to go. Thanks for
bringing the pencil back to me.”
Luke
scratched his head. “So...apology accepted?” he asked, looking confused as he
stepped away from the door. Finally.
I
opened it before he could try anything else. “Nope,” I said, my body half out
of the room. “But keep trying.”
And,
like magic, I was gone.
CHAPTER 5
reality biites.
Celsi’s
Point of View
For two hours a
day, twice a week, I volunteer at Mount Sinai Medical Centre’s daycare. Are you
wondering why any sane person would even want to work with a babble of rowdy
kids if they had the choice? So does Robyn, and I tell her the exact same thing
I’m gonna tell you- I need to fill in my quota of community service hours
before I graduate and I actually like working with kids. Sure, they get
loud, hyper and they never listen to reason, but I happen to think they’re
hilarious. My supervisor, Miss Campbell, well-she’s another story. I don’t even
think she likes kids. If she does, she hides it well. After working full
time at the daycare for 6 years, you’d think she would be immune to the
constant ‘I don’t want a pink juice box, I want an orange one’, ‘that’s mine!’
and ‘I want my mommy’ cries.
Yeah
freaking right.
She was the
most frazzled person I had ever had the misfortune to run into, constantly
pulling at her straw blonde hair, massaging her reddened temples and sometimes
even screaming back at the kids. I often thought the hospital would fire her,
and stamped on her termination papers would be the words ‘does not work well
under pressure.’
But so far,
she’d been lucky in that respect, even though she was on her third stress ball
this year at least she had me coming in to help her out every few days,
alleviating some of her stress.
“Put that down,
Helen! William, don’t touch that- stop poking me, Jerome!”
Or not.
I looked up
from the quiet corner I was sitting in, surrounded by a small group of
enthralled children who listened avidly as I regaled them with the story of
Harry Potter. Miss Campbell was also surrounded, but the kids who were clamoring
for her attention weren’t as well behaved as mine were.
“One at a time!
William, get away from that table, those snacks are for later!”
I groaned to
myself as her voice cracked. Sure sign of an impending meltdown, which meant
that I had to step in and do something, and fast.
“Stop yelling
at me! Use your
“Well,
what can I do to show you how sorry I am?” he asked persistently. I stood
there, one finger on my cheek, my head cocked to one side like I was thinking
really hard.
“Oh,
I got it. Why don’t you return every single pencil I ever lent you, and I’ll
think about it,” I said finally.
I
wasn’t expecting him to smile and reach into his jeans pocket. I took a step
back as paranoia kicked in. Maybe he was pulling out a gun! Or something...
With
a flourish, he held up my blue polar bear pencil, looking as good as new.
“That’s
my-,” I started, staring at it but making no move to touch it.
“Yeah.
Your lucky pencil,” Luke said softly, smiling as he handed it to me.
I
took it, feeling like I was dreaming. My pencil! You guys probably think
I’m stupid, going gaga over a little pencil, but it held sentimental value to
me. My three year old niece (Nate’s baby girl) had won it at the West Indian
Carnival last year and she had given it to me as a ‘pwesent’. Two days later,
she was dead. She suffocated in her sleep and I was the one who found her.
Unwanted
tears filled my eyes as I looked up at Luke, who frowned at me slightly.
“I
thought you said you lost it,” was all I could think of to say.
“I
looked all over my room till I found it. How about that? Did I rock your socks
or what?” he asked. “Looks like I did- are you crying?”
“No,”
I said stoically, blinking back tears. “I really have to go. Thanks for
bringing the pencil back to me.”
Luke
scratched his head. “So...apology accepted?” he asked, looking confused as he
stepped away from the door. Finally.
I
opened it before he could try anything else. “Nope,” I said, my body half out
of the room. “But keep trying.”
And,
like magic, I was gone.
CHAPTER 5
reality biites.
Celsi’s
Point of View
For two hours a
day, twice a week, I volunteer at Mount Sinai Medical Centre’s daycare. Are you
wondering why any sane person would even want to work with a babble of rowdy
kids if they had the choice? So does Robyn, and I tell her the exact same thing
I’m gonna tell you- I need to fill in my quota of community service hours
before I graduate and I actually like working with kids. Sure, they get
loud, hyper and they never listen to reason, but I happen to think they’re
hilarious. My supervisor, Miss Campbell, well-she’s another story. I don’t even
think she likes kids. If she does, she hides it well. After working full
time at the daycare for 6 years, you’d think she would be immune to the
constant ‘I don’t want a pink juice box, I want an orange one’, ‘that’s mine!’
and ‘I want my mommy’ cries.
Yeah
freaking right.
She was the
most frazzled person I had ever had the misfortune to run into, constantly
pulling at her straw blonde hair, massaging her reddened temples and sometimes
even screaming back at the kids. I often thought the hospital would fire her,
and stamped on her termination papers would be the words ‘does not work well
under pressure.’
But so far,
she’d been lucky in that respect, even though she was on her third stress ball
this year at least she had me coming in to help her out every few days,
alleviating some of her stress.
“Put that down,
Helen! William, don’t touch that- stop poking me, Jerome!”
Or not.
I looked up
from the quiet corner I was sitting in, surrounded by a small group of
enthralled children who listened avidly as I regaled them with the story of
Harry Potter. Miss Campbell was also surrounded, but the kids who were clamoring
for her attention weren’t as well behaved as mine were.
“One at a time!
William, get away from that table, those snacks are for later!”
I groaned to
myself as her voice cracked. Sure sign of an impending meltdown, which meant
that I had to step in and do something, and fast.
“Stop yelling
at me! Use your
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