Time heals everything, right?

Estelle's questions

Now the St. Nicholas things are actually real myths about the man... You'll understand more as you read on.

I drummed the steering while I drove into the entrance of Estelle's elementary school. I was glad that I never had to go there. The school looked like it had been there since the American Revolutionary War. There was a bunch of small children scattered on the front lawn of the school, not a teacher to be seen in sight. Couldn't someone just swoop in and take these kids?

As soon as I got to the pickup curb Estelle came bounding up, sliding into the backseat of Paul's car. My half sister had big grin covering her face head to toe.

"What's with you?" I asked her, driving away from the old, creepy, school. I wouldn't be surprised if someone had died in it's basement, but it wasn't like I could look it up without getting attacked by monster.

"We have a new art teacher!" The kindergartner squealed with delight.

"And?" What normal kid got excited over a new teacher. I guess I would get it if they hated the teacher the new teacher was replacing.

"He's 23 and he likes boys! You're 22 and you also like boys! A match made in Heaven if you ask me!" She told me while taking out a green notebook, starting to draw with her pencil.

"I don't like boys, Estelle. I like men. You're making us sound like pedophiles."

"You may not like him because he's not blond." My younger sister hummed. I wasn't going to date some random art teacher, especially one that my sister picked out... she's wild.

"I'm not going to date some random art teacher you just met."

"Why not." Estelle whined, putting her head on the window to be dramatic.

"I don't know anything about him, he may have children pickled like that one story of St. Nicholas."

"Santa pickled children?!" The brown haired girl exclaimed.

"No, apparently one day he was walking by a butcher shop and he sensed some ungodly stuff going on, so like every other human being he walked in. When he walked in, he saw a barrel or something around that, then he proceeded to raise the butcher's three pickled sons from the dead. I really don't know why I know this..." I told her with a small smile on her face. I think Apollo told me this...

"Thank god! I thought Santa was some pickle maniac!"

"There is also a story where St. Nicholas slapped someone in the mouth at church."

"Mad respect." Estelle giggled. "Speaking of church... what's my religion?"

"Estelle, that's a question I can't answer." I stated. I could tell her about Greek Gods, but that's something I should discuss with her when she's older, she'll understand it better.

"Why not?" She questioned me, letting out a loud sigh.

"It's your religion not mine." I looked back at her to see her arms crossed.

"What's your religion then?"

"Well, my father is Greek, so that's makes me Greek. I believe in the Greek Gods. You'll learn more about them when you get older." I responded.

"How can you believe in something you don't know?"

"You'll understand it more in the future." I replied with a grin.

"But I wanna understand it now!" The small moved to sit behind me, kicking the back of my chair angrily.

"Paul's gonna get you if you mess up his car, especially if he sees kick marks on the back of his chairs." Estelle let out a loud groan, moving back to her car seat, buckling herself in.