Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I have no idea if any of that got through.
They just all blink at me, writing utensils poised up, their mouths open, before chatter erupts happily again as they start scribbling on their construction paper.
Well, fuck.
I tried.
Sara looks up at me quizzically. “What’s your name again?”
“August,” I say.
She frowns. “That’s a month.”
“It’s a month, but it’s also my name. Do you know how to spell it?”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide.
“All right. Why don’t you get that white marker? It’ll look nice on the purple.”
She grabs the last marker from the center of the table, wrestles the cap off, and stares up at me, and I realize she’s waiting.
“A,” I say, watching her draw an enormous, scraggly A that takes up half the inside of the folded paper. “U . . . G . . .”
It takes almost five minutes to spell my name.
By then she’s made a mess all over the page.
But she seems to be having fun, at least.
I steal the last marker, a red one, and write Dear Sara at the top of my page.
“I’m going to write something nice about you,” I say. “You can just tell me hello, if you want.”
“Okay!”
Sara sets busily to work. I’m not sure if she’s writing in any known language; it mostly looks to be squiggles and a few random stick figures.
Still, she’s enjoying herself, and that’s the important thing.
They all seem happy.
I shake my head slightly and set my marker to the page, the red bleeding in fuzzy lines on the soft green paper.
Thank you for being my friend, I write. That’s a good thing to say to a little girl who’s claimed you, isn’t it? Sincerely, August.
After I finish, I glance up and find Elle watching me, even as she stops a little girl from putting a glitter glue stick into her mouth, handling her with a gentle touch.
A touch that turns into a little tap of her lips as she blows me a kiss.
I clear my throat, looking away quickly.
I hope like hell my face isn’t turning red in front of all these little devils.
Not that they’d notice, anyway.
They’re having a grand time, slashing messages onto their construction paper, trading off glitter glue sticks and, worse, loose glitter.
Glitter that gets puffed in my face as Sara tries to get a canister open.
The can pops, pouring glitter everywhere in a silvery eruption.
Closing my eyes, I jerk back and try to swat it off with my hand—but it’s useless.
Glitter showers me.
From behind, I hear Miss Joly’s raucous laughter and Elle’s giggles. Spitting a little, shaking my head, I swipe at my eyes, carefully opening them and then looking down at myself.
I’m painted in glitter.
There’s a wall of it down my front, all over my shirt.
All over my slacks.
It’s even in my mouth, and when I shake my head it showers down from my hair.
Sara clutches the near-empty canister, looking up at me sheepishly.
“Sowwy,” she mumbles. “Sowwy, Auggie.”
“It’s okay,” I manage, though just talking makes me nearly choke on more hell-glitter. “No one got hurt. I’ll clean it up.”
“But who’s going to clean you up?” comes from over my shoulder, light with sweet laughter as Elle catches my arm. “Here. There’s a wash station this way. I’m going to steal Auggie for a minute, okay?”
“Okay!”
Nearly blind with glitter, I let Elle pull me to my feet and nudge me toward the wash station. It’s not hard to tell she’s struggling not to bust out laughing again as she wets a paper towel in the sink and starts swiping at my face.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “Didn’t think you’d get this into it.”
“You’re not funny, brat.”
“Liar.” She flashes that adorable smile up at me. “You want to laugh. Admit it.”
“If I inhale too hard,” I say through my teeth, “I’ll be digesting glitter for a solid week.”
Elle giggles and gently draws the paper towel across my brows, cleaning delicately around my eyes. “Sara’s taken a liking to you.”
“She has the charm of a jackal cub. Cute. Scruffy. Unsettling.”
“Oh, please, you aren’t scared of that little thing.”
“Her voice could crack glass.”
“That’s just how kids are. I think you like it.”
I give Elle a sour look. “You’ve made your point. Yes, they’re enjoying themselves.” I glance over at the table I left. Sara’s happily trading a glue stick back and forth with another little girl, both of them spackling their cards with streaks of shimmery stickiness. “I think our target market might be slightly older for actual pen pal activities, but we can certainly create a vertical of secondary merchandise for this age group.”
The next thing that touches my face isn’t the paper towel, but Elle’s lips—brushing a light, chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth before pulling back. I glance back to her, her pink lips shining with traces of silver.
“Thank you,” she murmurs with a sweet smile. “But we’re not done yet. Brush yourself off and go give your little friend her card.”