Christmas and Wrapping Paper

I managed to drag all 15 sleepily stumbling children into the dining room to eat their pancakes. Nick and I made about 50 pancakes, which, if you don’t like math, that’s about three pancakes per child. And they were huge. I seated them around the huge dining room table. It was like to one I had at home, except it was actually filled. At home, it was me at one end, and my dad on the other. I felt a twinge in my heart, but I ignored it.

I helped Nick set the pancakes on the table; four 5 stacks of ten on each plate. The children dug in immediately, pouring on syrup and devouring the pancakes like they hadn’t eaten in days. I went back over to the count adjacent to the table and hovered, trying to eat a pancake for myself.

My mouth watered as soon as I bit into it. These pancakes were the best I’d ever had, but I wouldn’t tell him that. He already had an ego like nobody’s business, wouldn’t want to inflate it too much more, or he’d be crushing innocent townsfolk.

High pitch sobs erupted over the idle chatter, causing it to go quiet until it was the only sound in the room. I searched for the source, eyes landing on Wrapping Paper. Her head was doused in a thick, brown substance, which I recognized as syrup. The boy next to her held a cynical look on his face, but once he noticed my glare, he quickly replaced it with an innocent one, going back to eating his pancakes.

I rushed over to Wrapping Paper, picking her up and clutching her to my chest; she wasn’t that heavy. I asked Nick to keep an eye on the kids while I helped her get cleaned up. Her syrupy hands clutched my shirt. I cringed at her getting it dirty, but remembering what Nick told me this morning, I discarded the thought.

“You want to tell me what happened?” I asked, trying to keep my tone soft.

“H-he dumped syrup o-on me.” She hiccupped.

“Why?”

“I asked h-him to pass m-me the syrup and h-he poured it on me.” She explained into my chest. I stroked her syrupy hair. I don’t know what came over me, but I just felt obligated to help her, to comfort her in any way I could.

I got her an extra pair of clothes, helped her wash the syrup out of her hair, and let her get dressed in the bathroom while I stepped out --hey, not my kid, none of my business. After I helped her towel dry her hair until breakfast was over. She thanked me as I brought all of her clothes and towel to the laundry shoot before leading her back down to the kitchen.

“Now can you lead me to the boy who did this to you?” I asked. She shook her head, grabbing onto my hand. Her tiny hand could only grip my pointer finger, and I smiled inwardly at her flat out adorableness.

“There’s the culprit.” She told me, pointing at a little boy with hair so blonde it was almost white. I remembered him vaguely from this morning. I let go of Wrapping Paper’s hand and crooked a finger at the boy in a ’come hither’ type of way. Fear struck his face and he marched over to me. I lead him back into the kitchen, the scene of the crime.

“Look, squirt.” I started venomously. “Usually when a boy does something like that to a girl, it means he likes her. If that’s the case, I’m just going to tell you right now, you have to be nice to girls. That’s what they like, okay?”

He shook his head so hard I thought I was going to see his brain fly right out of his ear. “I don’t like her! That’s gross.”

“Then why’d you pour syrup on her head?” I asked, cocking a hip.

“You wouldn’t understand.” He crossed his little arms, eyes dark.

“I think I understand more than you do, thank you very much.” I chuckled. “Try me.”

“I did it because… because the other kids told me too. They don’t like Wrapping Paper. They said if I did it, I could be in their club. I didn’t want to do it.” He hung his head, ashamed. “I think she’s cool, but I didn’t want to end up being hated.”

I sighed, my mind launching into thought. “Run along now.” I told the little boy. I think we’d all been put in that situation. It was either do the right thing, or be excepted. That’s life though.