Ten O’clock Scholar – leaf

This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘leaf.’

Enjoy the snippet here, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

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The next class period, Peggy made doubly sure that she was standing at the door long before class time. After her faux pas at the museum the week before, there was no way she was going to face her teacher’s ire by being late again.

Arriving twenty minutes early, she was the first one there. She tried the handle, just to be sure. Still locked.

Leaning up against the brick wall, Peggy thought of pulling out her phone and either checking email or browsing YouTube until other students arrived. She opted to keep her phone tucked in her back pocket and stood enjoying the relative silence surrounding her.

It didn’t last long. Soon others began wandering down the sidewalks, heading to other classes. The bustle gradually increased and soon several small groups clustered around the Interior Design classroom door. The younger ones tended to gather in their own little cliques and Peggy felt like the older outsider.

Fortunately, Wanda arrived before the feeling overwhelmed Peggy, and she now had a cohort. One even older than her. As they chatted and compared notes about the mandatory museum tour the week before, Peggy glanced up and caught sight of a dried leaf caught in Wanda’s hair, behind her left ear. She hesitated about saying something, but also didn’t want Wanda getting embarrassed about it later.

Knowing that she’d appreciate someone pointing out the same for her, Peggy final spoke up. “You have a hitchhiker.” She plucked the offending interloper from her friend’s tresses.

Wanda giggled as she watched the dried oak leaf flutter to the concrete. “Oops! Guess I shouldn’t do yard work before coming to school.”

“You had time to work in the yard first?”

“Of course. When your eyeballs open at three in the morning.”

“Three? Yikes. When Clifford was a baby, he used to get up at four every morning. Thank goodness that passed. Now I get them up about six. I get up at five to shower & start Derek’s coffee. I don’t think I could function waking up at three.”

“Just wait until you’re my age. You’ll find out. The body becomes a traitor.”

Before they got further into the old-age conversation, Carol whooshed up beside them, panting and out of breath. “Thank goodness I made it. I was running late and ran all the way from the parking lot.”

“Car problems?” Wanda asked.

“Kid problems. Brian decided to have a melt-down temper tantrum. Rolling around on the ground, screaming, thrashing about. I almost couldn’t get him in the car.” Carol rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh.

A slight grin lifted the corners of Wanda’s mouth. “Guess I’ll live with my old age wake up calls. Much easier than dealing with the young ones like you two are.”

Carol shifted her shoulder bag higher. “Hey, are you two going to the Interior Design Club meeting next week?”

“I’m not,” Wanda answered. “I just want to learn about the techniques. I don’t want to get involved with anything extra. I’ve got enough social commitments on my plate.”

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Trisha’s Website

Ten O’clock Scholar – nail

This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘nail.’

Enjoy the snippet here, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

Peggy wasn’t in the car near as long on her eastbound trip home. Before she knew it, she was veering northbound on the 57 freeway, off of the 10, to detour to San Dimas.

A stop all alone! Just me, myself, and I. No kids. No husband. No homework or chores.

She was almost delirious with the anticipation of the upcoming visit to the farmer’s market. Peggy loved the old town atmosphere of San Dimas. She didn’t get to pop in there near often enough. Once she found a parking spot and was wandering the open stalls filled with barrels of fresh produce, most of it locally farmed, she felt the tension drifting away from her like spiraling smoke into the stratosphere.

Her reality check came as she saw the prices on the various bins.

Oh dear. I can’t afford that.

Goodness, that’s too rich for my blood.

Yikes. I sure can’t afford to come here very often.

She knew that everything here was better for the family’s health. Almost all was organic. No pesticides or residue. Farmed in a manner that was more sustainable for the planet. Oh, how she wished she could shop here every week and load up on every delectable item that called out to her.

Alas, she had to juggle that temptation with a pocketbook that didn’t allow for splurges like that. The poor kid’s piggybanks could attest to that. Clifford and Jonathan had no idea how many times she’d borrowed money from their Christmas or birthday monies to pay the electric bill before the power was shut off.

She almost decided to leave without buying anything. But then she rounded the corner of the aisle and spied the glistening butter-colored pears with their rosy sheened highlights beckoning.

Pears. Her classmate Carol had mentioned pears. And pears were one of Peggy’s favorites. If she bought some, she could make some Pear Honey from Grandma’s recipe. That had long been Peggy’s favorite treat since she was a little girl. She’d grown up calling it Pear Honey because that’s what Grandma called it. But once she’d grown up, she’d figured out it was more of a conserve, or a marmalade. But by then it didn’t matter. The name was ingrained and would always be that.

She grabbed a bag and started filling it with the fresh fruit, nestling them carefully together so as not to bruise them. She looked at the last one with a gleam in her eye as she laid it on top of the others.

Stroking the top pear softly, she spoke aloud, unmindful whether any other shoppers would hear her or not. “Rest carefully, my sweet. Because you’re not going to make it all the way home.”

She almost licked her lips with glee, thinking of how she’d enjoy devouring one in the car all by herself. She felt so light-hearted and happy, that even as she turned and snagged her purse on a nail that wasn’t pounded into the barrel properly, her mood didn’t dampen.

Check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

Trisha’s Website

Ten O’clock Scholar – picture prompt snippet

Our current story is Ten O’clock Scholar. This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to a picture prompt. These snippets will be short. Each one is 300 words or less. There are several pictures to choose from and we each pick one to write to.

Enjoy the tale, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

Feeling relieved to have a friendly face in front of her, Peggy smiled back and stuck out a hand. “Thanks for coming back and lending some moral support. I was feeling deflated after that. Especially after trying my hardest to be here on time. I never expected traffic coming into LA to be this horrid.”

“You haven’t driven in before?”

“Not driving myself. Actually…I can’t remember even being into LA so far. I think Pasadena is the furthest I’ve ventured west. Except for the beaches of course, but I always head south – towards Laguna.”

Carol nodded, her grin getting wider. “Love Laguna. But I usually end up at Huntington. It’s just easier with the kids.”

Peggy dropped her bag to the floor by her feet. “I don’t like Huntington. That’s where we always went when we were kids. I get bored there. I’d rather have the rocky cliffs and tidepools at Laguna. How many kids do you have?”

Holding up her fingers in a V configuration, Peggy answered. “Two. A boy and a girl.”

“Cool. I’ve got two too. Both boys.”

“How old are yours? My Olivia is four and Brian is three.”

“Right in between mine. Cliff is five and Jonathan is two.”

Carol held up her hand for a high-five. “Awesome! We should get together one afternoon for a burger and let the kids run around the play area.”

“I’d love that!” Peggy’s mood lightened the longer the two talked.

After pleasant banter back and forth, Peggy finally pulled her phone from her back pocket and checked the time. “Guess I’d better head out of here. I was hoping there’d be enough time to swing by the farmers market in San Dimas on the way home.”

“Love that place! Buy a pear for me!”

Check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

Trisha’s Website

Ten O’clock Scholar – nasty

This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘nasty.’

Enjoy the snippet here, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

By the time Peggy pulled into the museum’s parking lot and found an empty space, she put the car in park and her shoulders sagged in relief. Heaving a huge sigh, she sat for a moment. As much as she’d looked forward to the tour, she almost didn’t want to enter the premises.

Not only was she arriving an hour past the tour time, after the unexpected tension from the congested drive, Peggy simply wanted to sit like a limp dishrag and not move for an hour. Or two.

But, knowing that she had to appear and at least catch the last segment of the tour, she rolled up the window, grabbed her bag and exited the vehicle.

Will I even find where the class is at this point in the tour?

She hoped that the tours followed a somewhat set pattern, so that someone at the entrance could give her an idea of what area her class may be.

Unfortunately, as Peggy entered, she hesitated in the front foyer area, looking around to get her bearings, she saw Mrs. Stone headed towards her, with three fellow students lagging in her wake. Peggy paled when she saw the nasty glare aimed in her direction.

“Mrs. Stone…the traffic…I just—” Peggy stammered.

“You should have made allowances for that.” The instructor uttered the words in a clipped, tight voice. She thrust a clipboard in front of Peggy. “Here. Sign the list. At least you made it here. Now that the tour is over.”

Peggy pulled the pen from the silver slip and signed her name before returning it to Mrs. Stone. “I’m sorry—”

“Doesn’t matter. Tour’s over. You’ll get partial credit for showing up. Make sure that next time you’re on time.” Mrs. Stone turned and headed to the door.

Two of the girls, looking to be barely out of high school stayed right on Mrs. Stone’s trail, following her out the door. They turned their heads and avoided Peggy’s glance. The third girl, seeming to be closer to Peggy’s age, at least looked her in the eye. She didn’t speak, but at least shrugged her shoulders as if in an apology before she too left the building.

Peggy stood in the now empty room trying to decide what to do. She walked over to the closest showcases to see what was inside. As she stood reading the placards describing the contents encased within, Peggy heard a rustle beside her.

Raising her head, she saw that the third girl had returned and stood quietly beside her. “Oh, hi. I didn’t hear you come back in.”

A slight grin inched its way across the girl’s face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I wanted to come back and make sure you’re alright. Mrs. Stone can be a bit rough.”

“A bit?”

The grin turned into a huge smile. “Touché. More than a bit. My name’s Carol by the way.”

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Ten O’clock Scholar – gray

This snippet is written for Tuesday Tales, where a group of authors write to a word or picture prompt each week. This week we’re writing to the prompt ‘gray.’

Enjoy the snippet here, then go check out the other delightful tales you’ll find at Tuesday Tales.

Peggy stifled the laughter that threatened to bubble up and erupt. The joyful delight that infused her soul from overseeing her teacher’s mishap carried with her throughout the entire drafting class. The entire period she found herself tamping down the mirth. She doubted the stoic faced engineer-type teacher would find amusement if Peggy burst out in spontaneous glee in the middle of the classroom’s hear-a-pin-drop silence.

Days later, Peggy still caught herself chuckling aloud when the memory flashed through her mind. But by the time she dropped the boys off at Mary’s house and found herself stuck in stand still traffic on the 10 Freeway, headed to the museum tour, the merriment faded to nothing.

This must be why I never drive into LA. Other than the fact that I never have a reason to drive here.

Peggy spent more time idling and not moving than she did with the wheels in motion. Her eyes were not in constant motion – moving between watching the bumper of the car in front of her, traveling to the dashboard clock to check the time, then glancing at the gauges as the heat gauge inched upwards towards the overheated portion of the indicator.

Oh, good Lord, I’m going to be old and gray before I ever get to the museum. Mrs. Stone is going to have an apoplectic stroke because I’m late.