Maraya Cole

I am a student who is interested in all things related to stories, television, film, and blogging! I love to analyze stories and provide reasonings into why people should or should not watch or read something. As a passionate writer and reader, I would love to share my love and knowledge with others! Something I recently started via YouTube!

• Autumn Semester 2020, Writing Fiction: A
• Summer Semester 2022, Writing Fiction II: A
• Spring Semester 2021, Ethics: A
• Spring Semester 2021, British Literature I: A
• Autumn Semester 2021, U.S. Literature I: A
• Spring Semester 2022, Introduction to Linguistics: A
• Spring 2023, Medieval History in Film: A
• Spring 2023, Public Speaking: A
• Spring 2023, Introduction to Mass Communication: A
• Fall 2023, Women & Gender Studies: A
• Spring 2024, Writing & Journalism A

The water was not fresh. I spit it out, dropping the old glass cup on the dusty table that’s set beside my bed. I look up, wanting to avoid taking in my room, but my eyes can’t escape the dull pink walls that mock me. The broken closet that needs to be fixed, and my fan. Once calming, but now a nuisance. I throw my sheets off me, standing up just as my mom barges into my room. She wears a determined look that I question. I already know what she’s gonna say. She says it every day. Every. Day.

“Hey sweetie, don’t forget-”

“To take out the trash.” I cut her off. “I know.” I whisper, but inside I’m screaming it. She squints her eyes, staring at me before she nods her head.

“Ok. And make sure you-”

“Feed Mila.” My voice interrupts her again. “I was just about to do that.” I motion my hand to the door. My mom sucks in a breath now before sighing. She knows already too.

“Okay, but don’t let-” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.

“The food burn. Turn off the stove. And clean up the mess so we don’t attract even more bugs.” I rush out in a quick breath before slipping on my slides. I meet my mom’s gaze and I can see it. Her disappointment, her hopes fading, like mine. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I wish I could change that, but I can’t.

“Well, okay then, love, I’m off to work. Lock the doors after you’re done taking out the trash. I’ll see you tonight.” She looks at me like she wants to say more. Instead, she shakes her head before heading out. And it’s just me and my baby sister now.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My old flip phone distracts Mila as I chop her vegetables. I wonder if she’s tired of the combo of carrots, peas, and apples. The water is boiling, so I can throw her vegetables in. Just as I’m about to, my ears perk up as the doorbell rings. Mila grips my phone tighter as I grab her and place her in her car seat. The door comes closer into view as I walk towards it, stepping over scattered toys. I place Mila on my hip as I swing the door open. I don’t see anyone till I drop my eyes down. A little boy is standing in a boy’s scout outfit holding onto a box of cookies. My stomach betrays me and growls at the sight.

“Hello,” I say to the little boy whose front tooth is missing.

“Hello, there ma’am.”

I tilt my head as he says, ma’am. Do I already look like a ma’am? I’m only sixteen. “I’m selling cookies for my boy’s scout club. It’s raising money so I can go camping this summer. Would you like to buy a box? It’s only five dollars.” My stomach sinks as he says ‘only five dollars’. Five dollars is money for Milas’s diapers or my mom’s gas. I surprise myself when I answer.

“Sorry kid. We’re poor.”

I look out and notice a woman in a family van that looks to be his mom waiting for him. His eyes gape open in surprise. I’m stepping back, ready to shut the door, when he yells.

“Wait!” I raise my brows.

“Yeah, kid?” I ask. Mila is now resting her head on my chest as I talk. The phone is now forgotten.

“You don’t even have five dollars?” he asks, unable to wrap his head around it.

“Not for cookies. We can’t afford treats right now. Only the necessities.” I say, and of course, at the worst timing, my stomach growls again at the sight of chocolate chip cookies. I’ve been in the same cycle of life for the past year. I can’t even remember the last time I had a cookie.

“What about your parents?” My heart hardens.

“Parent.” I correct. “My mom works all day. She’s working right now actually,” I say, unsure why I’m still talking to this kid. I guess I really do need friends.

“You don’t have a dad?” he says. Of course, that’s what the kid focuses on.

“No.”

“Did he die?”

“No.”

“Where is he then?”

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know, probably in Fiji right now,” I say. The kid probably doesn’t even know where Fiji is.

“What’s Fiji?” he asks.

“A place for the rich, kid,” I answer.

“Your dad’s rich?”

“Yes.”

“And he won’t give you five dollars for a box of cookies?” I chuckle.

“No, kid,” I say.

“That sucks,” he says thoughtfully.

“It does.” I agree.

The honking of the van causes his head to turn around.

“My moms calling me back. I gotta go. I hope you’ll be able to have five dollars one day, just for something fun.” He says, before skipping off. I can’t help but smile before shutting the door and walking back inside. Mila is babbling about God knows what as I walk her back to her car seat. The doorbell rings again. Confused, I hurry back to the door with Mila and swing it open. Only to see the kid, visibly out of breath, holding out two boxes of cookies. I raise my brows in confusion.

“What are these-”

“There for you. And your little sister, although I’m not sure if she can eat them yet. And your mom.” he says, rushing out his words.

“But your summer camp-” he cuts me off again.

“I’ll be fine. I’m close to the amount of money I need already and besides, my mom says it’s fine.” He says. My eyes scan to his mom who is watching with a smile on her face. I nod at her, lost for words.

“I gotta go, though, see you,” he says, dropping the cookies in my free arm before running off.

“Wait!” I’m the one who shouts this time. He stops turning around. “Thank you,” I say.

He grins before racing toward his mom. I walk back, baffled, as I shut the door.

“Mila, guess what?” I ask my sister, who I know can’t talk back. “Everything is going to be okay,” I say, smiling at the thought of being able to share these with my mom later. Something different, unlike our typical same-old day. Thanks to a kid. “I think I’m gonna paint my walls, too. It’s time for a change, huh?” I ask, unsure of how I’ll get the money, but even if I have to glue paper on the walls. I’m changing stuff around. Just like today.

“Let’s go make your veggies.”

THE END