Naleighna Kai's Literary Cafe Magazine November Edition | Page 34

he said as he pulled on his handle bar gray moustache to give his coming words more weight.
“As I see it,” he looked around to make sure all eye were upon him, “this hall holds about
five hundred people comfortably. Since we’re having a throwback to the fifties, sixties and
seventies dress theme for the prom, I’m sure most won’t need to do anything but look in the
closets and grab something to wear. Afros, conks, platform shoes, we all got some old clothes
somewhere…”
“Bea can wear what she wore last Sunday,” Sasha chuckled. Her tiny parenthesis-shaped
legs spread and of course, she’d forgotten her underwear again.
“And Sasha can just wear what she’s wearing now.” Bea shot back, except she can add
drawers.”
One moment Sasha’s knees were open and the next the springs to Sasha’s knees sprang
shut hard enough to crack a bone. She grabbed her cane and was about go Darth Vader on
Bea.
Brother Casanova jumped between them, “Ladies, please. Don’t let me hafta use my
Taser!” He’d heard that line used on television and was glad it worked. He shook his head
and sighed at their pettiness as they retreated, “Anyway, we’re supposed to come up with ways
to make money without going over the five-hundred dollar budget. Won’t it cost much of that
if the shirts are printed?”
Sasha didn’t like her idea challenged, and she could almost feel her tight gray bun tighten.
It’d threaten to cut off the oxygen to her brain, but she remained cool. “Of course, I already
thought about that,” she lied, “Bea is gonna hand-write every word on every tee-shirt.”
“What tha ham and cheese!” Bea’s spine almost straightened as she shot forward, she’d
just balled her fists to strike. “Oh forget a Taser!”
Sasha quickly cut her off when she added sweetly, “Bea has such lovely penmanship. Why
should we pay for something with less quality?”
Bea’s fist stopped in mid-air. She hadn’t gone to college, but when Sasha put it that way,
how could she refuse? “I do have good penmanship,” Bea said with as much sincerity as an old
con artist could muster. “How many tee-shirts would we need?”
Elder Batty started counting on his fingers and when he added both knees to the count,
he said. “Bea, I think we’ve sold about one hundred and fifty tickets with about two hundred
more promised.”
From the end of the table, someone spoke up and offered a semblance of commonsense.
“We do remember that the Seniors Prom is that Saturday after Thanksgiving, don’t we? That’s
less than a month away. It won’t leave us with much time.”
Everyone turned to face trustee Freddie Noel. Until that moment, they’d not heard a peep
from the tall, lemon yellow, skinny man with squinty brown eyes, and a sharp nose that looked
like a carrot stick. Not only was he very tall, but extremely unattractive and in his mid-sixties.
He was so thin, he’d almost had to pin his pants to his skin to keep them up.
“It’ll be enough time if we’re not distracted.” Elder Batty Brick replied. “So you can pencil
that in your notes as a done deal.”
The trustee shuttered a bit. He knew that Elder Batty Brick had only mentioned the word
pencil because behind his back, folk called him “number two” saying he resembled a number
two pencil with a chewed eraser.
34 | NKLC Magazine