z

Young Writers Society



The Case Against Cassandra

by ajruby12


"Mother, I want to go to the North Pole!"

Cassie Baker was not the most pleasant child at Christmas time. She was not pleasant any time during the year, but Christmas was the worst of all, since she was home, bored, and aware of her lack of Christmas presents. Many of her neighbors swear that she acted like a cat dunked in cold water the whole month of December. She was demanding, obnoxious, and rather thick-headed about it all. She loved to stretch her parents to the limit with her demands.

First it was a sleigh. When she didn't get one that Christmas, she demanded a reindeer the next year. Next it was an elf, and now, with none of those wishes fulfilled, the chubby-cheeked tyrant is demanding a trip to the North Pole, her whining accented with unbearably long temper tantrums sprinkled here and there throughout the few weeks already transpired in December. Her parents were no help in the matter. Her mother concerned herself almost solely with Cassie's baby sister, Pricilla, who, compared with Cassie, was a perfect angel. Her father liked the newspaper, coffee, and peace and quiet, so whenever Cassie threw a fit, he would slip into his closet, put on ear mufflers, and read until his wife pulled him out for supper. Neither of them cared much about Cassie's demands, but they tried to be good parents and make compromises. Needless to say, the compromises never worked.

Cassie was a menace to the whole neighborhood too, particularly on her street. The Hendersons next door attempted annual summonings of Krampus to get rid of the girl, but it never worked. Mrs. Smith, the middle-aged widow down the street, took great delight each year in printing a "Naughty" list and posting it on her front door. All the neighbors on the street, and a collection from other streets as well, would claim their spot on the festive paper and scribble Cassie's name on the sheet. Her name was written in huge letters and tiny letters, scrawling text and block letters. It was written in pen, pencil, crayon, marker, and, in the case of one little boy, mud. Her name was accompanied with many nasty adjectives and nicknames, although Mrs. Smith wouldn't allow any profanities to be listed. Cassie was a child, after all. The list brought the neighborhood together for a common good: fighting back against a horrible, no-good Christmas spoiler.

Since school was out, a band of boys liked to parade underneath Cassie's window, banging pots and pans and singing joyous tidings of her miserable fate. The leader of the band, Billy, led the singing with gusto.

“Cassandra is a nasty girl

With nothing nice to say.

She hates just about everyone

And pouts up there all day.

She wants a reindeer, did you say?

Well, give her it for sure!

Perhaps it will fly her away

And drop her in manure!”

Mrs. Smith came hustling out of her house, yelling at the boys,

“We don't use those kind of words here, young men! Now go find something else to do!”

She stared up at the second story window where Cassie stood, her mouth quivering with indignation. Cassie noticed Mrs. Smith looking at her and threw her window open, her chubby face jiggling like jello as she shouted,

“Why did you chase them away? That's what I was going to do! Stop sticking your fat, witch-y nose where it doesn't belong, you old spinster! I hate you!” She slammed her window closed and tackled her bed, ripping the head off of her doll. She screamed to the sky,

“I hate you all!”

Patricia Gordon ran the neighborhood. Everyone that lived there admitted it. If there was a problem that arose, Patricia was there, calmly handling the situation with a level-headed attitude and gentle, yet stern spirit. When she called the whole neighborhood for a meeting at her home, everyone expected to see her neatly dressed in her quaint style, with finger food served on china plates and lemonade in delicate glass pitchers. This was not the sight that greeted them when they arrived. Her blouse had a huge brown stain all across it, still dripping wet, and her eyes bore a glare that should have been burning holes in her blue wallpaper. However, she graciously greeted and sat all the attendees down. When everyone had taken a seat, Patricia took a deep breath and began speaking in her soft voice.

“I'm sure you all are wondering why I asked you here. Up until now, I have ignored a pressing dilemma in our neighborhood. Today, I could no longer ignore that issue. Cassandra Baker is a menace to our children, our homes, and the tranquility of this neighborhood. I have heard your complaints individually over the past few years, but I should like to organize these all together, in the presence of this assembly, into a list of grievances. My dear husband, Charlie, has volunteered to record these grievances for us all.”

Charlie, a kind man with a few gray hairs already on his head, winked cheerily from his spot in the corner, writing pad and pencil in hand.

“Ready whenever you are, m'dear.”

Patricia took another deep breath.

“I suppose I shall begin. The particular event that drove me to organize this meeting took place this afternoon when I was at the shops buying new fabrics for a dress. I had just selected fabric for the trim when I saw a familiar, though unwanted face in the shop: Cassie. Her devious grin told me something was amiss, but her parents weren't in sight, so I tried to simply ignore her. She skipped right on up to me regardless, batting her dark eyes at me. Then that little weasel 'tripped' and splashed her full mug of hot chocolate all over my lace blouse! Charlie was along with me, and when he tried to approach her, she hurled the mug at him, smashing it on the floor! I grabbed her wrist and tried to get her to apologize. Of course, just then Mrs. Baker came into view and Cassie ran to her, bawling piteously about how she had tripped and splashed 'just a little cocoa' on me and now I had threatened to snap her wrist! I hadn't had the thought before, but she certainly drove that idea into my mind. It's a wonder I didn't do it...”

She stopped, her face red and her fists clenched tight. She tried to relax and regain her composure.

“That's all, I suppose… Charlie, did you get that all?”

Her faithful husband nodded.

“Right then… Does anyone have a grievance to add? I don't want to pressure anyon...” There were already five hands in the air. Patricia smoothed her skirt and slipped back into her role as administrator.

“Mr. Warren, why don't you start?”

A stocky man stood up, his cap grasped tightly in his hands.

“Aye, I've gotta list of 'em. But I suppose I'll just stick to one. So there I was, taking a stroll down the street. I love the cold weather, y'know. Brings out the Christmas spirit a bit more. Anyways, I was walking past the Baker house and I smell something awful bad. Like a dead animal or something. So I look around and I don't see nothing, but just then, the window above slides open, and Cassie sticks her little face out. So I thinks to meself, 'Well, maybe she'd like a little cheering up.'

“I call up to her, 'Oi there, Cassie! Merry Christmas to you! How're you this lovely afternoon? There's a bit of snow on the ground. Perfect for a few snowballs.' And then the little demon just smiles and picks up something small from the windowsill. She throws it straight at my face. D'you know what it was? A dead rat! She threw a dead rat at me face! Then she just giggles and yells, 'There's your Christmas dinner, you vagabond.' Can you believe that? My little Nelly has 'er own set of fits, but that girl just ain't human.”

He sat down in a huff, rubbing his nose. As soon as he was seated in his chair, a woman popped up, waving her arms wildly.

“Speaking of animals, do you know what that beast did to my poor kitty? I had let McNeil – that's my kitten's name – outside for a while, then I hear the more horrible squeals. I go out on my porch, and she's wrapped McNeil up in Christmas lights! He was lying there in the snow and could barely move! My poor baby almost froze to death in the snow! It was horrible! I'd like to wrap her up in Christmas lights, stick her head in the snow, and see how she likes it!”

Patricia coughed politely.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fredricks. Cassie is not only a menace to us, but to our pets as well. Ah, little Tommy, did you have something?” she asked, gesturing to a chestnut-brown head poking up from the assembly. Tommy moved to the middle, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, Cassie was really mean to me last Saturday. She said she wanted to play out in the snow, and I was really bored that day, so I came along with her. We walked down to the playground where she started making snowballs. We had had snowball fights in the past, so I started making some snowballs too. I noticed that the snow wasn't packing at all, so I looked up to see what she was doing with her snow. Then this mixture of snow and mud hits me in the face, and she starts giggling. 'Did you really think I wanted to play with you?' she said, then threw another mud and snow ball at me. I was about to do the same thing back, but I didn't want to get her nice clothes all messed up. At least I was wearing an old coat. So I just admitted that she had beaten me and started walking home.”

He paused, sniffing as he rubbed a hand across his eyes.

“She ran after me and said she wanted to apologize. My momma always said to never ignore an apology, so I turned around and she slaps a handful of mud straight into my face, some of it getting into my nose and mouth, and the rest sliding down into my coat.”

He fell quiet and sniffled again. Patricia walked over to him and placed an arm over his shoulders.

“It was very good of you to try and be nice to her, Tommy. Thank you for sharing that. Anyone else?”

The accusations came thick and fast. Fred's new car had been coated with mud. Mrs. Turner's laundry line had been raided and all her clothes cut up into pieces. The Johnsons' nativity set was smashed, along with their lawn ornaments. Valarie and Tom's wallets had been stolen and replaced with a nasty note about them being poor and pitiful. Cassie seemed to think everyone was poor, but that was mainly due to the fact that she was convinced her parents were millionaires and were simply holding out on her with Christmas gifts. The meeting stretched on for several hours, and almost everyone had shared multiple stories when Patricia cut it short.

“I'm sure we all have much to share, but we must leave it at this. You all have heard the case, and the witnesses have testified. Now, it is up to us all to act. Please spend a good deal of time in thought tonight about how you think we should address this issue. We will meet again tomorrow night and discuss a proper solution. Thank you all for coming.”

The “jury” departed solemnly, each weighing their responsibility with grave seriousness. How were they to address this child menace? Her age must be taken into consideration, but the damage that she had already caused begged for justice to be delivered. Each family gathered quietly within their homes over dinner that night to discuss the issue. Several arrived quickly at their solution, many of which involved either a criminal charge or permanent banishment from the town. Perhaps she should be locked in a cellar. Maybe given to an orphanage with special instructions for her never to be adopted. But a special idea had struck a particularly fed-up individual: Martha, the cleaning lady for multiple houses in the neighborhood, including the Bakers'. She had overheard Cassie's demands for a visit to the North Pole. Why shouldn't she get her gift and solve the neighborhood's problem at the same time? It was a perfectly reasonable solution, and Martha began writing a short proposal to the committee for the following day.

----------

Unfortunately for several people, Cassie had caught wind of the meeting. She didn't know for what purpose they had met, but she did hear of the stories of her horrid behavior being shared, and she was furious. Being a practiced actress, she didn't let this anger show when she approached Mrs. Baker who was knitting in the reading room, little Pricilla playing on the floor at her feet.

“Mother, where are the rest of the Christmas ornaments?” she asked sweetly. Mrs. Baker eyed her cautiously for a moment.

“They're in the cellar. What do you want them for, dear?”

“Oh, I just want to put them in a pretty jar in my room.” Cassie said, rubbing her feet along the carpet as she pranced towards the cellar, her poofy curls bouncing on her back. Mrs. Baker hid a smile. Perhaps Cassie had finally noticed how dreary her room was and wanted to brighten it up. What a lovely idea. She kept knitting, listening to Cassie pounding up the stairs, lugging a box of ornaments along with her.

“Be sure to use the red and green ones. Those colors would match your wallpaper.” she advised, focused on her work. She heard more grunting as the box was tugged up the stairs and dragged across the floor. Another thud sounded as the box landed on Cassie's carpet. What a lovely idea…

SMASH.

SMASH.

SMASH-SMASH-SMASH.

The sound of glass breaking startled Mrs. Baker. She put down her knitting and opened the curtains to look at the street. Red, green, gold, and silver fragments lay all over the street, coating a bewildered Mrs. Smith. Cassie was hurling ornaments at her mortal enemy, which could have been practically everyone in the neighborhood, but her rage was focused on Mrs. Smith in particular. The poor woman screamed as a glass fragment hit her face, slicing her forehead. She threw up her parcel to protect her head and ran.

“Run, you old spinster!! You want to tell stories about me? Here you go! Tell. This. To. Everyone!” she screamed, accenting each word with an ornament.

“Cassie! What are you doing?” Mrs. Baker scurried up the stairs, trying to open Cassie's door, but it was locked.

“Cassandra Marie, stop that this instant!”

“I'm not listening to you, mother! You're no fun! All you do is knit and fuss over stupid little Pricilla! I hate you!”

More ornaments hit the street, this time targeting Fred who had unwittingly chose the wrong time for a quiet stroll.

“I wish this were mud that I could throw on your fat face!” Cassie screamed, whacking him in the face with a well-timed ornament launch, leaving green glitter on his face. Fred scurried on his way, muttering darkly under his breath,

“Naw, jail's the best place for you… Except you'd scare off all the inmates...”

----------

The section of the street in front of the Baker house was blockaded off. Anyone that had to pass that way was advised to carry umbrellas with them to ward off any stray missiles. Mrs. Baker was issued an order to quarantine Cassie in her room, bracing the door with a chair. The meeting was set at 5 o'clock sharp that night, and the Bakers came along to ensure fair judgment upon their daughter.

At 4:50, the assembly began to gather, dressed in dark cloaks and coats, all bearing serious expressions. Per Patricia's request, they all brought their best solution, in writing, to the meeting. Each judgment was handed to Charlie who, with as grave an expression as his joyful heart could muster, organized and recorded all the suggestions. Patricia was dressed in a sensible brown and black ensemble, poised on her chair like a diplomat. She held up a hand to silence the assembly.

“It looks like we have gained a few more people. Welcome, all of you. In the next hour or so, I hope to arrive at a reasonable solution to our problem. I must again stress the importance of a fair decision. We are talking about a child here who, though an absolutely awful person in general, still is immature and irrational. Perhaps with proper punishment of her deeds and correction beyond that, she can become more sensitive to people and thoughtful of others. Now, Charlie, can you read us the judgments that you have collected?”

Charlie's kindly face wrinkled in concentration.

“Right, m'dear. Now, I will read these anonymously. Each of you should have a pad of paper and pencil. Please record any suggestions that you deem worth considering. There are two suggestions for juvenile prison, under a charge of public endangerment and disturbing the peace. Another is for the case to simply be brought to the authorities and have them deal with it. This one… oh dear. Well, I must read them all. This one is for her to be abandoned in the woods and tied to a tree for the wolves to devour. Now, that does seem a bit harsh…”

“It ain't harsh at all!” Mr. Warren bursted out. He paused and coughed.

“I mean, I ain't saying I was the one who wrote it or nothing, but it seems sensible.”

Patricia nodded, and motioned for Charlie to continue.

“R...right… Now, this one was for her to locked in a cellar until she is willing to change her ways.”

Several pencils scratched on their respective writing pads.

“And this one's similar, but involves various punishments for her to understand what she did to the good folk of this neighborhood.”

More scratching.

“And then this one… Send her in a boat to the North Pole?”

A silence fell across the room. Patricia's lips parted, as if she were about to say something, but she stopped. Martha, the maid who had submitted the suggestion, sat silent as stone in the back, wrinkling her skirt up in her hands nervously.

“And that's all...” Charlie said, tapping the papers on his writing desk. For the next few minutes, the “jury” conversed amongst themselves. Valerie, an intelligent, red-haired young woman, was elected to write down their final decision. She handed it to Patricia without speaking. Patricia read it slowly, and a smile crept across her face.

“I never knew we had such wonderful minds in our neighborhood. We will implement this tomorrow morning. Everyone please carefully read this decision. It is critical that this be performed properly. Good evening everyone and good luck.”

----------

The next day passed as usual in the Baker homestead. Mrs. Baker made breakfast for Cassie, who in turn ate about two bites and complained for the rest of the meal, forcing Mrs. Baker to throw away the rest of the food and give Cassie the one thing she liked: sweets. Then Pricilla started crying for food, and Mrs. Baker left Cassie to do whatever she wished. Christmas break was miserable for the poor woman, but for Cassie, it was pure bliss. Weeks of countless opportunities to gripe and complain about her parents, her sister, her clothes, and whatever else she could think of, on top of driving her neighbors to the brink of insanity. It was all good fun.

She skipped merrily outside to see who she could annoy, but she saw no one out in the streets. Strange… There were always husbands driving to work whom she could throw mud at, or women delivering baked goods as Christmas gifts, the perfect targets for some well-aimed snowballs and dead bugs. But there was no one. Ah well, there was always property to destroy. But no! All the Christmas decorations were gone. The lights were stripped from the roofs, trees inside, plastic reindeer stored away… Cassie didn't know whether to be delighted or infuriated. How dare these people! She stomped viciously on the broken ornaments still laying on the street as she stalked down the sidewalk. How dare they…

Cassie spent the next few hours in the snow, playing her favorite sport of all: snow graffiti. She traced on window panes with her glove, writing “Fatty” on Mrs. Smith's windows and gracing the other houses with endearing terms such as “Pig”, “Lard-belly”, and other creative insults. Once this was accomplished, she wandered back down the street. Mrs. Fredricks had just stepped out her door to unload groceries from her car when Cassie walked by. Mrs. Fredricks plucked up an armful of groceries and headed back inside.

“Hey waddles, don't forget to clean your car!” Cassie yelled as she gleefully smeared a large glob of muddy snow all over the car. Mrs. Fredricks paused for a moment, turned around to look at the car, and then walked directly indoors without any change of expression. Cassie stopped, rather confused at this. She thought the woman would be angry at her! Oh well… She wiped the mud off of her gloves onto the car's hood and started walking again. Around a minute later, Mrs. Fredricks emerged from her garage with a bucket of water and began cleaning the car hood. Cassie spun around triumphantly, sticking out her tongue at the woman. But the woman's fixed expression didn't budge. She was even smiling as she washed away the mud!

“Why, of all the nerve!” Cassie muttered under her breath, flouncing away.

“I hate this neighborhood, and I hate you, Mrs. Fredricks!” she grumbled angrily.

“Cassie, dear, I have a present for you!”

Cassie heard her mother's squeaky voice from across the street. She put on a face of stubborn agitation, but deep down, she was delighted. Perhaps her temper tantrums had finally paid off! Surely this was the present she had been waiting for: a trip to the North Pole! She pranced through the doorway, flinging off her coat onto the floor.

“I was having fun, momma! What was so important that you called me back in?”

Mrs. Baker gave her daughter a big smile, along with a large cream envelope.

“Why, I have a gift for you, precious! Here, open it.”

Cassie yanked the envelope out of her mother's hands, plopping down on the sofa. She opened the envelope and could barely contain her glee. There, laying within her grasp, was a boat ticket. In shining silver letters, it read, “One-way trip to the North Pole”, decorated around the edges with holly designs and little Christmas trees.

“Is this really a ticket to the North Pole?” Cassie asked with a grin, forgetting to keep her face in check.

“Yes it is, precious! It's good any time before Christmas! You still have three days left. I left a suitcase out in your room. Be sure to pack lots of warm clothes. For now, I'll keep the ticket on the mantel. You can get it whenever you like. Just be sure to use it before Christmas.” Mrs. Baker whisked away the envelope and placed it on the wooden mantel, returning to her knitting. Cassie sat awkwardly on the couch, kneading her skirt in between her fingers. A few moments went by, but Mrs. Baker said nothing more. So this was finally it! She had finally won over her parents! A trip to the North Pole, all by herself, with no annoying parents, ugly neighbors, or whining little sister to get in her way.

She bounded up the stairs to her room, seizing the suitcase and heaving it onto her bed. It was decided then. She would leave this miserable neighborhood and not come back, at least not for a couple years or so. It was perfect! She'd pack enough clothes to last her for a while, then pinch some money out of her father's wallet while he was in his closet reading. She'd live in the North Pole until she was old enough to boss these people around. When she came back, she'd be much more clever than all of these old fogies, and a whole lot more beautiful than them all, for sure!

She started to bundle up a sweater when she paused. She still had three days to board the boat. There wasn't any reason she should leave right away.

“That's right… I'll plan it out for the rest of today and leave in the morning.” she said, placing the sweater beside her suitcase, but leaving it open until she was ready to pack that night.

------------

That evening, her parents had arranged a very last-minute Christmas party for the neighborhood. Cassie was preparing her finale for this special event. She'd show up her parents… In fact, she'd show them all up for the way they had been treating her! The guests began to arrive, and she began her masterpiece. She started with Valerie, who, like the prompt and thoughtful woman that she was, had showed up rather early to help Mrs. Baker prepare. Cassie's trained eye noticed the beautiful white lace on Valerie's blouse, a perfect target. Cassie commissioned herself to make the lemonade and “accidentally” knocked a pitcher over onto Valerie. The sticky drink soaked the woman's blouse, leaving pools of lemonade on the floor, but she only laughed! Mrs. Baker fussed about, grabbing towels to soak up the mess and offered a replacement outfit, but Valerie refused, commenting with a smile,

“It's only lemonade. I'm rather fond of the smell anyway!”

Oh, was Cassie furious! Her well-laid plan had already fallen through, and Valerie didn't even acknowledge her presence! No matter. There were always other fish to fry.

But the Christmas spirit seemed to have infested those men and women's minds, as every one of Cassie's attempts to anger people failed. Mrs. Smith picked out the dead flies in her coffee, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson made a contest out of eating the cookies spread with hot sauce icing, and even Tommy seemed unaffected by chunks of snow sliding down his back. Everyone chatted merrily amongst themselves, not casting a single glance at Cassie, save to note what tricks she was about to try. It was absolutely miserable for the poor girl. She had finally had enough. She picked up her father's glass and hurled it on the floor, splashing nearby legs with cocoa. Finally, the conversation stopped.

“Why is everyone ignoring me? Why aren't you mad at me??” Cassie demanded, her plump cheeks shaded a hot red. Patricia, who was seated at the largest table, stood up and smiled.

“Why, isn't that what you wanted, Cassie? We don't want to stop you from getting your Christmas wish by keeping you here. You wanted us to leave you alone, and you have a way to do that right there!” She gestured to the mantel behind her.

Cassie's lip trembled, and she screeched “I hate you all!” before pounding up the stairs to her room. She kicked the suitcase off of the bed and flopped down, burying her face in the soft pink covers.

“Why won't they just get angry at me?”

----------

The next day went much the same, with Cassie trying her best to annoy and irritate her neighbors, but nothing she did seemed to bother them one bit. The holiday spirit went on with gusto throughout the day. Later that evening, a group of carolers were walking the streets, armed with umbrellas against Cassie's ornament barrages. They sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” right underneath her window, culminating in “...and a happy New Year!”, accented by a screechingly high note by a soprano that was far too fond of her voice.

Despite this, however, Cassie sat on her floor, legs crossed and fingers drumming the carpet. This Christmas season just wasn't fun at all. No one got annoyed or yelled at her. They were all calm. Almost too calm… Ah, it must be a devious plot! They were up to something.

“No, I'm not going to let them win…” she said defiantly. She threw open her window, causing the carolers down below to hastily raise their umbrellas. She yelled out into the crisp air,

“I'm leaving and I'm not coming back for… for a really long time! Do you hear that? I'm going away! I can finally be happy away from all of you beastly people! In fact, I may NEVER come back! Then you'll be sorry!”

She snatched up the bundles of clothing she had folded at various times throughout the day. With the addition of a few sundry items, such as a toothbrush, facial creams, sun screen, powders and blush (she had stolen this from her mother's cabinet for her return back home), and other items. She snapped her suitcase closed, bundled up in a coat, and plunked down the stairs.

Thud.

Scrape.

Thud.

Scrape.

Her suitcase banged on each step as she descended, her cheeks flushed with anger. She snatched the ticket off the mantel and turned to face the door.

“I'm doing it!” she yelled into the living room, but there was no response. She took a deep breath and opened the door. No one was out on the streets.

“I'm going to do it!” she yelled again, pulling on socks and snow boots.

“You can't stop me!” No response again from the snowy streets. She placed one foot over the threshold. Still nothing. The grandfather clock ticked in the living room as she stood, one foot on the steps and the other firmly planted on the tile floor. Cold air brushed her ears, and she shivered. It was too cold outside for traveling all the way to the harbor. Perhaps she was acting a bit too irrationally. There were plenty of other alternatives to traveling to the North Pole, particularly in this weather! Cassie very, very slowly inched her booted foot back inside, wiping off a few stray snowflakes. She closed the door and sniffed. What was she to do?

-------------

Bacon. Mrs. Baker smelled bacon cooking. She opened her eyes begrudingly, rolling over in bed.

“Just a few more minutes…” she mumbled, then paused. Why was she smelling bacon? She rolled back over and saw her husband snoring peacefully beside her. She held a hand to her mouth.

“Oh good gracious, Pricilla's gotten into the larder!”

She pulled on her slippers and tap-tap-tapped down the stairs, whirling into the kitchen like a hurricane. The sight that greeted her was the farthest from what she had expected. It was not her lovely angel pudding-cakes that had somehow gotten into the bacon to cook it, but her pudgy-cheeked, miserable older daughter instead! Cassie looked up from her work, smiling slightly.

“It's Christmas Eve, momma! I thought I should make some breakfast.”

Mrs. Baker's hand slowly lowered from her mouth. The corners of her lips moved into a smile as she chuckled.

“That's very kind of you, dear, but you'll burn the bacon. Here, let me help you.”

Perhaps for the first time ever, the Bakers didn't have an argument that morning. Cassie still upheld her tradition of refusing her mother's offering of toast, but they enjoyed a quiet meal together. Lunch was a bit more talkative, with Cassie sharing her story of cleaning up the ornament glass in the street and having Tommy come to help her, hesitantly, but willingly.

Even though Cassie didn't throw a fit that day, Mr. Baker had gotten so fond of his closet reading habits that he slipped into his secluded abode for the remainder of the afternoon. Cassie tried her very hardest to be pleasant that day. She convinced Mr. Warren to drive her to the store, where she bought the cheapest flowers she could find. The flowers were wilted and sad, but i was the best she could do on short notice. She also bought a cheap tie clip for her father and a little rattle for Pricilla. She took great care in wrapping up these gifts and great delight in watching her family open them the next day - Christmas day.

It was indeed a happy day. Cassie, with the encouragement of her mother, wrote short notes to all of their neighbors on the street. In each, she apologized for her attitude, wished them all a Merry Christmas, and, at the bottom of each note, in her cramped and scrawled handwriting, she included the beginning of a special carol: “Joy to the world.” This Christmas, there would be no more ornament hurling (although Tommy did encourage snowball fights), no temper tantrums, at least as much as she could help it, and no more demands.

The boat ticket sat on the mantel where Cassie had stuck it, glinting in candle light. The Bakers had Mrs. Smith and Patricia and Charlie over for dinner that night. After they had eaten, Mrs. Smith politely asked what they were going to do with the boat ticket, now that Cassie wasn't going to use it. Mrs. Baker smiled slyly.

“Oh, it wasn't real! I'm surprised she didn't notice, really. Patricia was the one who made it. Look!”

She walked over to the mantel and picked up the ticket. She flipped it over. The ticket had been written on the back of an old recipe card for sugar cookies. Patricia couldn't help but giggle.

“And not only that, but look! I was lettering out the words, and I misspelled it! 'North Poel'.” Mr. Baker glanced up from his newspaper and chuckled.

“Thank goodness for a poor education system!”


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51 Reviews


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Sat Jan 06, 2018 9:37 am
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Ishan212 wrote a review...



ajruby12
Hi I am Ishan Dhyani and I am here to review your short story The Case Against Cassandra So here we go;

I found your story to be a sweet,simple short story, though it was a bit longer for being called a short story,

The setting of your story, of an American town where it snows heavily during December gives it more of what I call 'Christmas touch' and the the Christmas lights and snowballs add more to it.

Your protagonist Cassie is a different character in herself. She hated almost everyone. Be it her neighbours or the kid who lives nearby, what she wants is to trouble them or drive them to 'brink of insanity'.

What attracted my attention was that you didn't answer a very obvious question in the story. What on Earth did make a little girl prank neighbours in an ugly and not so well mannered fashion? Was it because of the atmosphere in her house? Her dad not giving slightest attention to her deeds? Or what I think it must have been because of her mother's ignorance towards her and not giving her attention. At the end of the day, she was a young girl! How can anyone see one's own mum ignoring her because of the younger child in the house! Am I thinking too much?

You also highlighted the importance of the usage of wit in a way too simple manner. The neighbours came up with a very impressive and intelligent idea.Thanks to Martha! Ignore the girl or the best way kill her hate with kindness. Pay heed to her demands, even of visiting North Pole and what you discover one day she apologizes to you. A simple story with a message worth a thousand dollars.

Loved your story.
Regards
Ishan




ajruby12 says...


Thanks for the review! To answer your question about the "obvious question" in the story, it really isn't often a factor of family or environment, but Cassie's choice to be a brat. Kids seem to be rather good at that. :)

Thanks for the comments and insights. They are helpful



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Sat Dec 30, 2017 9:41 pm
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atlast wrote a review...



Hello, Shane here for a (hopefully) helpful review! I'm not the best at story reviews, as I lose my focus easily with longer pieces, but here we go!

This was so sweet! I really enjoyed its simplicity and humor. Fabulous job! This piece also reminded me of the song "I'm Gettin' Nuttin' For Christmas" by Relient K! Here's a link: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=B_7xqqt1Vgs

You remained consistent throughout the story, with both characters and the storyline. the development of Cassie's character was done beautifully, and I really liked how you portrayed Patricia's character. Well done!

As for grammar and spelling, I didn't see anything except for in some of Cassie's dialogue, where you didn't capitalize the words "mom" and "momma." Other than that, you seem to be in the clear!

At first, I didn't understand the title, but once I finished the story, I quickly understood its importance and its connection to the story its self.

As I said in the beginning of this review, I really did enjoy this story. It was a really refreshing read. Well done, and keep writing!

-Shane




ajruby12 says...


Thanks so much for the review! I tried to go through and shorten this story, since it's so long, but I really couldn't, so not many people have read it. Oh well. :)
I'm glad you enjoyed it! I'm hoping to go through and make some small corrections/changes, but this story has been a brain child of mine basically the whole month of December.



Awru says...


That was just hillarious.I reaallly enjoyed it.You did an absolutely wonderful job.I love humorous stories%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D%uD83D%uDC4D




There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
— William Shakespeare