Sandy settled herself at her room desk. She pulled up her schoolbag and rummaged through it, hoping to find something to remind her what homework she had. One by one, she pulled out the books and worksheets of subjects that she had assignments to complete. Those that she remembered anyway.
Then she stared at the pile of them, wondering which she should start with. She was hoping to start with something not too boring, something entertaining even. She looked at a book or a worksheet, imagined the amount of work to be done, then decided to look at another. She finally settled on maths. Writing out the steps would keep her hand active. And it did not appear to be too difficult.
She opened her maths assignment and took out a blank notepad. She scratched line after line of equations before arriving at the solution. Then she looked at the clock on the desk.
Half-an-hour had passed. Congratulating herself on having spent that time on schoolwork, Sandy sat back in her chair and stretched. She deserved a break.
(What Sandy had neglected to consider was that twenty-five minutes of that half-hour had been spent on selecting the homework to start with.)
There was a distant call of "I'm home!".
Celeste was back.
Her roommate would make things more interesting. Oh, but she would have her dinner first. She must be starving after arriving home late.
Sandy decided to solve another maths problem.
Finally, just when Sandy thought she would die of boredom, the room door opened. "Hey, aren't you done with homework yet?" Celeste asked as soon as she was in, "I've mine to do." She dropped her schoolbag at the foot of the bed.
"Oh sure, you can have the desk," Sandy told her roommate.
"And give you an excuse to laze around? Get doing your homework." Celeste went to her cupboard for some clean clothes.
"You're as bad as Momma Lois," Sandy accused with a pout.
"We're just looking out for you," Celeste said.
"So how's your first day at work?"
"Oh, it's fine," Celeste replied, "It's just so tiring coming home this late. School, then work."
"Yeah, but you get to earn money," Sandy said.
"It's not much though."
"Still, it's enough to buy some good food." Sandy rubbed her left forefinger with her right thumb. "Say, Cel, you think I can get a part-time job?"
"Maybe." Celeste sat on the bottom bunk of the bed and laid the clothes from the cupboard beside her. "You're fourteen though. You'd need a work permit."
"And you don't?"
"Not once you're sixteen."
"So, how do I get a work permit?"
"You need permission from Momma Lois and you need an employer willing to hire you. Then you apply for a permit through your guidance counselor in your school. Actually, you should talk to Momma Lois and your counselor first."
"Who's my guidance counselor?" Sandy asked.
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "Didn't they tell you? They should have. Unless you haven't been paying attention again."
"Oh, um, I'll look through my papers. There should be something there."
"You should be finishing your homework first," Celeste pointed out as she collected her clothes and went to the door, "Now get it done."
"Yes, Mum."
So, maybe a part-time job was where her riches were. That was what Sandy thought.
(But if she thought of it, then it would not be the promised riches. So said the burnt fortune card on the desk. Not that Sandy would realize that in her excitement.)
It took the rest of the night for Sandy to finish all of her homework. Celeste had to use the dining room table to get her own done.
***
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