The Purple Beanie

Ms. York's TA

Bree poked her head into the English classroom after school. Ms. York was sitting at her desk, marking the short story assignments. Bree's "Cemetery of the Undead" was among them.

"Hello, Ms. York. I'm your Teacher Assistant for the year?" Bree stepped into the classroom.

Ms. York looked up and smiled. "Ah, yes, Ms. Campbell. Thank you for coming this afternoon. The first thing I would like you to do is separate the marked short stories and the unmarked ones into two different piles."

Bree approached Ms. York's tidy desk and started picking up the stories with red marks on them. They were the marked stories, she guessed. She put them neatly in a pile and picked up the stories that did not have any red marks on them.

"You can read some of the stories if you like, as long as you don't mindlessly share the students' privacy with anyone else," Ms. York told Bree.

"Thank you," Bree said, and flipped through some of her classmates' short stories. They weren't bad, but none of them quite caught her eye. Until she arrived at the same story she had picked up and given to Conner Bailey.

The title immediately sparked Bree's interest. In slightly messy, crooked handwriting, "The Curvy Tree" had been written at the top of the page. Bree wondered what it was about; she had never heard of anything like it before. She started reading and was immediately captivated by Conner's good choice of words, natural knack for storytelling, and charismatic humor. The story reminded her of a classic fairy tale. She flipped it over to read more and saw that there was another story that was titled, "The Walking Fish". Bree chuckled at the funny names. They sounded so unrealistic, but they made sense somehow when she read them. She loved both of the stories, and they touched her heart. Not many things did. She liked that "The Curvy Tree" kind of reminded her of herself and how she was always the odd one out. But this story really made her feel special and reminded her to appreciate who she was. "The Walking Fish" also connected with her because she knew that she should never desire anything that would make her lose what she already had. For example, she didn't want to give up her love for mystery novels and adventure just to be like those snobby, gossipy popular girls.

When Ms. York left to use the washroom, Bree quickly snuck out her phone and snapped two pictures of Conner's story, both sides. She loved them, and she wanted to keep them to read again later.

Bree flipped through the stories and finished sorting them just as Ms. York came back. Seeing that Bree had done everything she had asked, she said, "Great job, Bree. Thank you for helping out. I'll see you on Thursday!"

"Thank you," Bree said politely. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and exited the school building, smiling to herself for the first time in days. She had really needed something like Conner's stories to cheer her up.

But Bree was confused about one thing - why did the stories seem like they weren't simply from Conner Bailey's imagination?