Charlotte ran down the stairs. Her favorite dinner was on the table. Spaghetti with meatballs, in her opinion the best food invented. And after she was famous she decided she would go and meet the person who invented spaghetti and thank them in person. She went to sit down at the table where the rest of her family was.
As she went to dig in, Mrs. Dale said, “No, no Char. We have to thank our lord first.”
The family said a quick prayer, and Charlotte said, “Now can I eat.” Mrs. Dale nodded, and Charlotte dug in like a starving dog presented with a steak. It was only after she finished swallowing the food she realized that it wasn’t a very lady-like thing to do. Her mother and father had barely made a dent in theirs. Great, now she would have to sit there until they finished. She made a growling noise.
“Maybe you should have eaten more slowly.” Her mother said.
She stared out the window into the busy streets of her home city, Chicago. The people walked by. I bet they don’t have to sit at the table until everyone is done, Charlotte thought, looking at a group of girls who walked by. They all had matching pink dresses and pretty hair ribbons.
Charlotte looked sadly down at her skirt and shirt ensemble. It was brown and red, her two least favorite colors. No, pink and green were the colors for her. When she was famous all her dresses would be green and pink. She would never wear brown again.
When she was famous she could leave the table whenever she wanted, and all the people would chase after her. Then there would be a dance. The ladies would all be in gowns. The men would wear tuxedos and bow-ties. She imagined herself in a pretty dress like the ones she saw in shop windows, the ones mommy said were not for little girls. She was happy with the picture. In a pink dress, she might look pretty, almost.
As Charlotte daydreamed, her mother cleared the table and brought out a small chocolate cake. “Happy Birthday, Char.” She said.
Charlotte looked at the cake, and thought of the nice ice cream the rich ladies probably got to eat. “Thank you very much for the cake mother.” Charlotte said, and looked down at her cake with slight distaste.
She ate the cake, though, and found out it was very good. Her father drew out of his bag one more thing. It was a pencil kit with six pencils, an eraser, and a sharpener.
“It is really pretty, father!” Charlotte said, pleased.
“I am glad you like it.” He replied.
Lillian had sat silent this whole time. She couldn’t wait for her birthday. Maybe her dad would get her a pretty necklace. If that was all she got, it would be okay. She could picture the other schoolgirls eyeing it with envy in their eyes. They would want to put it on, but she wouldn’t let them, because it would be hers.
“Bed time, Lilli.” Her mother said.
“Aw, I don’t want to go to bed.” Lillian said.
“It is getting late.” Her father said.
“Charlotte, will you tell me a bedtime story?” Lillian asked. Charlotte rolled her big blue eyes and walked Lillian upstairs. Lillian wished she had eyes like Charlotte, because Lillian’s eyes were the color of dirt. Her hair wasn’t much better. It was brown and ugly too, almost the same color as her eyes. Charlotte had pretty light brown hair that shone in the sun when they walked to school. Lillian’s was too ugly to shine, or that’s what she thought.
Charlotte sat Lillian on the bed. She pulled a book out from the shelf beside the bed. It was called The Adventures of Sergeant Hazelnut, Squirrel Captain in training. Charlotte thought the title was long and overused, but it was Lillian’s favorite story. Charlotte cracked open the book and began to read.
Downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Dale were having an argument in whispers.
“You can’t go off to work in the country, the children will be heartbroken.” Mrs. Dale said.
“But the company will close soon and I will be out on the streets.” Mr. Dale replied.
“You know Charlotte, she is upset in her life enough as it is, and this might just break her.” Mrs. Dale knew her husband didn’t see things about Charlotte. Charlotte had a bad case of the-grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side syndrome. She always wanted whatever she didn’t have.
“We need to pay the bills somehow.”
“So you will pay them by breaking Charlotte’s heart?”
“If that is what keeps us in a house.”
Unbeknownst to her parents, Charlotte had heard much of their conversation. She frowned, and a tear leaked down her cheek. They thought she was upset in her life, well they were partially right. But not for her life would she admit it.
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