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I deadpan. “I guess you don’t celebrate Christmas anymore, Miss Identifies as a Faerie?”
She splays her perfect nails against her chest. “My friends and I do not celebrate Christmas. We partake of Winterfest, which, okay, is a lot like Christmas, but it consists of a bunch of weirdos from bad homes coming to my backyard and helping me build a bonfire while we all eat baked goods and drink hot chocolate. Or mead… No, I don’t know how alcohol winds up present any more than I know how the giant freaking legs of turkey do. My job is to use my three ovens to maximum cookie efficiency and volunteer the backyard. It’s not my fault if my friends turn it into a renfaire. The bloody edgelords…”
I rub my neck to fend off a headache. “It’s clear to me you have a lot of emotions concerning Christmas.”
“Nope,” she chirps. “You must be mistaken.”
Resting my chin in my hand, I look down at the budget numbers again. They all blur together, looking less feasible than they did a moment ago. “So no one is going to help me because Christmas is silly?”
“I didn’t say that.” Zahra closes her fist against her chest. “Madam, I will fight at your side to the ends of the earth in an effort to secure whatever it is your heart desires. You can count on me.”
?
The board voted no. No, we could not move the funds around at this time in order to revamp our playground for Christmas. We need to make sure we’re able to pay our teacher’s aide. And the electricity. And other stupid things like the water bill. Zahra saying that she didn’t need to be paid for the rest of the school year went over somewhat poorly.
Our chairman scowled at her, and I swear the man was about to send her to the corner for timeout.
Yet another year passes where the best I can do for Christmas is organize a Secret Santa, give small homemade presents, and plan a little party with some cheap microwave pizza.
Zahra pets my hair while I rest, flopped, on my desk in the classroom the morning after the meeting went majestically bad. “There, there,” she comments. “It’s okay. Those stupid people don’t understand what joy is. They only know sadness.”
“I found fifty percent off sales. I made a PowerPoint.”
Zahra hums. “Not gonna lie. The PowerPoint did surprise me. Especially the short video in grayscale of sad children. Where did you even get a please adopt our puppies before we have to murder them video of kids?”
Canva, obviously.
Turning my head, I frown up at my assistant. If she keeps going on like this, I’m going to put her in my next sad video presentation. About needing to hire a new teacher aide.
“Mrs. Role? What’s wrong?” Andromeda’s voice snaps me to attention.
I put my I’m a teacher, I don’t even use the bathroom, because I’m not human and live for my kids calm smile in place. “What do you mean, sweetheart? What are you doing here so early?” I blink, and my brows lower. “How did you get inside? Zahr, did you lock the door behind you?”
“I let myself in. It’s locked now.” She takes a seat at her desk. “I’m here early because Daddy blew something up.”
“He did what?”
“He blew something up in the basement. He told me his observation research was done, so he’s been running tests for days now. I hardly think he’s even been sleeping. He takes me to work, takes me home, and goes right down to the lab. This morning, something blew up, so he kicked Yama-nii-nii and me out.”
This does not spark joy.
“Is he…okay?” I ask.
“Oh, sure. You could hit Daddy with a semi and he’d probably just curse and walk it off.”
Nice to…know. I suppose the age-old tale of fathers looking like superheros to their little girls maintains even in the “Faerie” world.
“Are you well?” she asks, painfully adorable and caring and sincere. Also known as: all the things her father isn’t. Because if I suspected that he were, I’d think about him more. And I definitely don’t.
Zahra taps my head. “Don’t worry about Ms. Role, Meda. She’s just lamenting being told she can’t have any new toys.”
Andromeda perches her chin in her hands. “Ahh…I see. The school board said no to new playground equipment.”
“They said that maybe we could dig out the sandbox and put real sand back in it. Maybe.” My good teacher façade dies as I cross my arms like a petulant child. “After all, it’s a worthless expense, isn’t it? The children and weather will just undo our efforts in a month, and have you even seen the price of sand?”
Zahra’s face morphs into an evil little amused grin. “They pulled up a bag of premium sand that was forty dollars for twenty pounds.”
“Premium!” I throw my hands in the air. “Why do you need premium sand? It’s sand! You’re playing in it! Not eating it!”
