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Ashlee Warner wasn’t too small and she wasn’t too big; she was just right. Her blond hair just barely brushed the girl’s shoulders and curled only enough to make her look adorable. Cute, mousy brown eyes peered out from a small face upon which sat a small nose and a pair of small lips. At the moment, a bit of her pale pink tongue could be spotted sticking out from between those lips as she rubbed her eraser furiously across a page of her large spiral notebook. She had one arm pulled tightly around the edge and top of the notebook while the other hand worked quickly; her head was bent over so that her small nose nearly touched the paper.
“Ashlee!”
The little girl’s head popped up and turned towards the hallway. “Yes, Momma?” she called, one hand brushing the eraser rubbings from her paper.
“It’s time to eat, honey.”
“Coming, Momma.” Ashlee pushed her chair back from the desk she’d been sitting at and closed her notebook, dropping her pencil into a tiny blue pot which her mother had given her from a pen holder. Then she started towards the door; reaching it, she paused and returned to grab her notebook from the desk and placed it carefully in a shoebox that slid away under her bed. That would keep it out of the wrong hands.
“Ashlee?”
The little girl squeaked softly and made her way to the kitchen, her small feet echoing dull thuds as she went down the stairwell. “Sorry, Momma,” she said softly as she opened the silverware drawer and grabbed four forks and four spoons. Then she went into the dining room to put each in the proper place.
“That’s alright,” Mrs. Warner replied, taking down the plates. “What were you doing, anyway?”
Ashlee squeaked again. “Um, I was, um…”
“Ashlee?” her mother asked watching the girl carefully with one hand on her hip.
“Momma,” the little girl said matter-of-factly, “I was writing.”
“Oh? A story?” Mrs. Warner had started dishing up the pasta she’d cooked for dinner. When Ashlee shook her head, Mrs. Warner continued. “What then? A poem? A song?”
“Oh no, Momma,” Ashlee’s curls went every which way, hitting her face lightly as the girl shook her head. “Nothing like that. I was writing my first thesis.”
Mrs. Warner paused to chuckle softly, “A thesis, eh? And what, pray tell, urged you to write a thesis?”
“Oh come on, Momma. I’m serious.”
“Ashlee, honey,” her mother spoke softly. “It’s just that… well don’t you think you’re a little young to be writing thesis?”
Ashlee stared at her mother for a moment with her mouth hanging open. “But, Momma! Didn’t you know I’m a genius?”
Mrs. Warner chuckled again, softly, and a boy entered, ruffling Ashlee’s blond curls, “Yeah, squirt. You’re a genius and I’m a movie star.”
Ashlee scowled at her brother. “Shut up, Erik. You’re just jealous.”
“Right, I’m jealous of a half-pint third grader.”
“Erik, stop teasing your sister…”
“But Mom–”
“No buts. And Ashlee, don’t bait your brother.”
“Momma I wasn’t–”
“Ash,” her mother glanced over and Ashlee huffed and went to plop down into her seat, arms crossed over her chest.
Erik went to drop into his own seat and rolled his eyes at her, “See what you did now?”
The little girl wrinkled her nose at him and stuck out her tongue. “You started it,” she snorted back. “Smelly old fifth graders always start things like this.”
“No, the half-pint third graders do. Fifth graders just end them,” her brother muttered and picked up his spoon, trying to balance it on his nose. This made Ashlee giggle. She was still giggling when their mother put down their plates and her father came in the front door.
“Daddy!” she squealed, moving to get up.
Her mother shook her head, “Eat first, hug later, Ash.”
She slumped back for a minute, “Yes, ma’am.” Then Ashlee reluctantly picked up her fork and began eating.
