Prompt: Write about pumpkins.
I love fall. It's beautiful, it smells good, and furthermore, it's delicious. For some stupid reason, my brother Jo thinks winter is better. Well, I say my brother, but he adopted me. Although, I like to say I adopted him, actually. It's more fun that way. But anyway, back to the story. For a year after the war with Morbin Lastfoe, I was off the hook about school. But the minute Jo stopped being busy with military stuff, I somehow couldn't talk him out of sending me back. And so it began. At first, it was completely awful. But a few of my friends from Cloud–Mountain have moved here by now, and it's not so bad anymore. But again, I'm getting sidetracked.
The day I found myself in Howard's Pumpkin Patch, checking how much change I had left in my backpack hadn't exactly been a good one. I was sure I'd failed my Spanish test bigtime, my best friend had just told me that she liked the same buck I did, and on top of that, someone left an open jar of pickles in my locker. Pickles. But as I walked home from school, past a farm I'd visited many times, I felt like I needed something. Something round. Something orange. I dug my wallet out of my backpack, and found a couple of ten dollar bills. I don't remember how long I wandered around that pumpkin patch, but before I came out, I'd found two round, carving ready pumpkins, and four teeny tiny ones of which I couldn't pass up buying. When I got home, I plopped a pumpkin on the table in front of Jo, who was eating a sandwich.
"What's this?" He asked. I didn't answer. I dug around the kitchen for some carving knives, and set them on the table, along with some old newspapers, a bowl, and a bag of saltwater taffy. Jo finished his sandwich, found the other pumpkin where I had left it on the front porch, and began to carve. For a long while neither of us said anything, but we didn't have to ask to know the seeds were going to be roasted. We carved. That's all we had to do.
"How was school?" Jo finally asked. I shrugged. "That bad, huh?"
"Yep." It's easier not to talk.
"You okay, Maya?" I like the way he says my name. He sort of draws out the 'May', and the 'A' comes out short.
I sighed. "I dunno."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Jo's great that way. I don't need to be afraid he'll pressure me into talking with him.
"Not really."
Jo went back to carving for a minute, and then stopped. "What are you carving?"
"Charlie Brown," I glanced over at his pumpkin, and squinted. "Hey, that's what you're carving too."
"How about, whoever's pumpkin looks the most like Charlie gets to keep the rest of the taffy."
And just like that, I forgot about all that stuff that was bothering me. It was gone. And why? The only thing I can tell you is this: Oh, Jo.
I ran out of time. But I did OK, I think.