Lilly

Chapter 1

Beginning of First Grade

"Mommy, get up. We need to get ready," Lilly said, as she shook her mommy.

"It's still tay early," Caitlin groaned, then turned over and put a pillow over her head.

Her effort was in vain though. The little girl jumped on the bed and shook her with increased vigor. Resigned to her fate, she removed the pillow, then pulled her long blonde locks from over her face, and looked at her daughter. Despite her slight irritation, she couldn't help but smile at the raven haired little girl bouncing on her stomach.

"Ye aren't gonnae be thes excited abit skale in a few years. 'en, i'll hae tae force ye oot ay th' bed, an' i'll gie mah revenge," she said. With a snarl, she grabbed her little girl, the sole source of her happiness, and tickled her with the same vigor her daughter had shaken her. Loud squeals pierced the morning, and flailing limbs destroyed any order the bed covers once had.

When the play ended, Lilly jumped back up, filled with the boundless energy of youth. "Let's get ready, Mommy." Her mother groaned.

"Mah wee flower, yoo're a handful." She moved her tired feet to the floor, as if in slow motion.

After breakfast, which comprised the last of their Spam, along with the last of the eggs, they got in their old car and headed to school. They were early, but it wasn't as bad as it could've been. Lilly's mother slowed every task down enough to make it more bearable and insure they were late enough for someone to have arrived at the school.

"And who do we have here?" a rounded woman asked, when they walked in. She wasn't fat, but she wasn't thin, either.

"I'm Lilly," the little girl said. She was like a spring coiled as tight as possible. With the slightest provocation, some poor unsuspecting teacher would receive all of the held energy.

"Such a pretty name, and for such a pretty girl," the woman replied.

She then turned to Lilly's mother, "I'm Jane Stiles, principle of Briarlake Elementary."

"Guid morn, Mrs. Stiles. A'am Caitlin Pimlott, Lilly's mither. Her first nam is Priscilla, but she goes by Lilly," her mother said. Her Scottish accent often became thicker when she became nervous, as it was then. There was no nervousness seen from her daughter though.

"Lilly, when you get to your class, let your teacher know. Okay?" Mrs. Stiles told Lilly.

"Yes, ma'am," Lilly replied, and tugged on Caitlin's hand, but not very hard.

As mother and daughter walked away, the principle shook her head. She wondered at the obvious disparity between the two. The mother's features were clear in the face of the little girl, but the daughter's raven black hair and darker complexion stood in stark contrast to the mother's Scottish background. One of the most prominent distinctions, though, were their voices. While her daughter had a deep, endearing southern accent, the mother's Scottish brogue was almost unintelligible.

Mrs. Stiles was a little concerned seeing the poor look of the girl's clothes. The mother hadn't applied for any financial assistance, and she knew it. She recalled this little girl, because she'd been the only student from the mobile home park this year, and had stuck out in her mind, when she familiarized herself with her lower income students.

"Mr. Colquitt?" Caitlin asked, and moved only a single step across the room's threshold.

"Please, call me Mr. Jack. How may I help you?" the man asked. He wore a wide smile, and almost like a kid himself. She knew he would be an excellent teacher, in her initial glance.

"A'am seein' mah dochter tae 'er class," she replied. Mr. Jack paused a moment, and it was obvious he had to translate in his mind.

"And what is your name?" he asked, kneeling to Lilly.