Rachel
There was a pack of twelve. She couldn't think of who to reserve the last for. Ticked off people on her fingers, examined the chipping fingernail polish, then struggling to call a twelfth name. Mr. Landry. Paul Landry. The English teacher.
She shook the ballpoint pen, then absentmindedly rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. It was a Christmas card, but they so often turned into some odd form of thank-you mixed with best wishes for the next year.
Rachel slowly constructed the card in her head, pausing on each word and making sure it captured what she wanted to say. In rounded letters she slowly transcribed her message, pausing now and again to examine the letters that paraded slightly upwards on each line.
Message finished, she delicately propped the card up on the corner of her desk and breathed on the ink, willing her words to dry. A quick scrawl on the envelope, then she slid the card into it and ran her tongue along the glue. Dropped it on top of the stack.
The knock came too early. She slipped into jeans she had tossed onto her chair the night before, layered a t-shirt over a robin egg blue thermal and cocked her head as she examined her reflection in her mirror. Ran her fingers through her hair. Grabbed a granola bar and kissed the top of her father's head, smelling traces of shampoo in the wispy hair, on her dash for the bus. Metro drivers never waited, certainly not for students.
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