Page 27 of Between Love and War
I roll my eyes and go back to my puppet—a regular, two-eyed lady. I don’t know what to say, and thankfully, I don’t have to, because that’s when a small hand tugs on Michael’s sleeve.
We both glance down to see one of the preschoolers (Sophia, with big brown eyes and paint on her cheeks) holding a lopsided paper crown.
“Can you help me, Michael?” she says. “My glue is sleeping.”
Michael blinks. “Sleeping?”
“Sleeping,” she confirms seriously, holding out her very dry glue stick.
He smiles. “Ah, got it.” He takes the glue stick, twists the bottom dramatically, then opens a fresh one from the supplies pile. “There. This one’s wide awake.” He widens his eyes so Sophia laughs.
“You’re funny,” she says. “And your puppet is weird.”
Michael gasps, clutching his chest. “Weird? This is Gerald. He’s a very sophisticated gentleman.”
“Gerald has three eyes,” she says, not buying it.
“Don’t judge a puppet by his eyeballs, Soph.”
She giggles and skips away, glue stick in hand.
When he turns back to me, there’s still a faint smile on his lips. “She gets me.”
I just chuckle, and for a moment I forget why I’m mean to the guy. He’s nice. And honestly, anyone who’s kind to pets and kids automatically climbs up a few rungs on my niceness ladder. Forget about holding doors or saying please and thank you. If you can make a kid laugh or get a puppy to trust you, you’re officially a good person in my book.
After a moment, Michael says quietly, “I’m glad you don’t feel like you have to pretend around me. It makes it all the more special when youarenice.”
He smirks again, and I glance at him. “Yeah, well. Don’t let it get to your head.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Too late. You’ve already fed my ego. And an athlete is nothing without an inflated ego. You should know that by now, Katie.”
And just like that, Judy, my popsicle puppet, isn’t the only one who’s smiling.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Michael
I’ve been more involved in the school lately. Not because I have to, but I’m actually enjoying being around the kids. They’re loud, entertaining, and they distract me from all the adult crap. During Little League two days ago, one of the kids brought a jersey for me to sign. Probably their dad’s, judging by the size. But I signed it and enjoyed it nonetheless.
I’m sitting in the classroom with Kate. Well, sitting is a gracious term for what I’m doing. Everything here is tiny so I’m either on the floor, or sitting on two chairs. Today, I’m doing the latter.
“What’s that?” I ask Kate as she dumps a giant box on her table. It’s seven o’clock, just an hour before the kids arrive.
“Props. We’re storytelling today.” She’s elbow deep in the box that’s almost as big as her, then brings out a giant caterpillar made out of colored paper. This is followed by plastic food toys. “It’s calledThe Very Hungry Caterpillar.” She proceeds to unpack everything in her box.
I take the caterpillar and move it animatedly. “So, how do you want me to be involved in this?”
“Just… be the caterpillar. He really doesn’t have dialogue, but you can wing it. Maybe add a few ‘yums’ and ‘wows’ every now and then.” She hands me the book. “You can read it if you want.”
I skim through the book, get the caterpillar again, and say, “Wow, grapes. At last, salvation.”
“Okay, he’s a caterpillar. Not a war veteran.”
“Yeah, but he’s been hungry fordays, Katie. That’s starvation.”
She shakes her head. “Just stick to yums and wows.”
I pick up the caterpillar again, and this time, switch to a more cheerful voice. “Oh boy, oh boy, a grape! I love grapes!”
