Little Margot sat primly at the table. The pink bow tied her long honey-colored ponytail, the perfect accent to the pink-on-white polka dot pinafore she wore. Margot's hands were folded atop the table and she listened intently as Miss Roz was giving first-day instructions to the new kindergarten class. It was a bright, hot August day outside, but the whir of the air conditioning fans overhead promised comfort in the classroom.
The table accommodated five scrubbed and enthusiastic, or frightened, or subdued children and Curtis. Miss Roz knew within moments of the day's opening exercises that Curtis would be a handful. What she had yet to learn was that Tina, seated next to Margot and across from Curtis would, over time, make Curtis appear to be angelic, in a manner of speaking.
Curtis was jumping in and out of his chair grabbing pencils and books that did not belong to him. Miss Roz, not yet frazzled, was making a valiant effort to corral the tyke. Tina leaned toward Margot and said, "That is the ugliest dress I ever saw." Margot, stunned, never said a word, but a tear formed in the corner of her left eye. And Tina said, "Why don't you cut off that awful hair? It looks like throw-up down your back." The floodgates opened and Margot's cheeks were inundated with tears. She turned toward Miss Roz, but Miss Roz had heard what was going on. She, too sweetly Margot thought, chastised Tina and asked her to apologize. Tina turned to Margot again and said, "I'm sorry you can't take a joke, you skinny stick. Bet your mama starves you so she can eat it all herself, the fat pig."
Margot turned full in her seat, faced Tina, put her pointer finger within an inch of Tina's nose and said, in a clear voice, "You're just a little shit."
Word of the day: pinafore
© 2015 David W. Lacy