Fate, Chance and Circumstance

FCC Chapter One

"The Falcon sink his talons into you again?" she asked, bringing my focus back to Creative Writing.

"Did he ever. You wouldn't believe how he embarrassed me in front of the entire group."

Maggie chuckled. "Was it worse than the day he asked you to describe your dream home and you wrote down the address of the house across from your college dorm?"

I scowled at the reminder of that particular class, even as I shook my head.

This time it had been much, much worse than that. At least the house incident hadn't been relayed to the entire class so they could laugh about it together. He'd been patient enough to keep me behind afterwards to explain his instructions like he was talking to a five year old.

Curious, I glanced at Maggie, who was inspecting her nails. "Mags, what would you buy with a million dollars?"

"A first class plane ticket to Paris for starters," she said without hesitation. Then her head dipped sideways in thought. "And when I was done with my French shopping spree I'd get a jet ski, a lake house, a German Sheppard puppy, a year's supply of Twinkies. That's off the top of my head." She glanced at me, a knowing smile curving her lips. "Why? What'd you write down when the Falcon posed this question to you as your warm up exercise?"

I glowered at her, and reluctantly said, "A packet of toothpicks."

Maggie went blank, like she always did when she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I'm sorry, but someone hands you a million dollars and the first thing you do is go out and buy a pack of toothpicks?"

Well, when she put it that way, it did sound a bit ludicrous.

Funny, it had seemed so appropriate yesterday when I'd thought hard and long and weighed all of my options.

Mr. Falcon, our Creative Writing tutor, had posed the question to us as soon as we had our seats.

"If you had a million dollars, what would you buy?"

Without forethought, the rest of my peers had immediately scrambled to create lists that included a thirty foot yacht, a fifty bedroom mansion with a heated pool, and a private jet, while I'd sat there and actually thought of all the problems associated with being handed a million big ones.

First there was the thirty three percent in initial taxes deducted as soon as that million hit your bank account. Then there were the annual taxes, banking fees and God knows what else. In the end, I figured when all was said and done, I would barely have enough left over to buy me a toothpick.

Which is what I very pragmatically wrote down: One packet of toothpicks.

When the time came ten minutes later I handed my form forward with a satisfied smile on my face. That was until Mr. Falcon picked my sheet of paper off the top of the pile and read it out to the entire class in a booming voice. Halfway through my four word essay his voice faltered and his eyes sought mine out with minimal effort.

The grimace on his young, handsome face had me wanting to cringe and slouch in my seat. Frown lines appeared between his dark blond brows and even the dimples on either side of his mouth looked crestfallen.

And I had just been responsible, yet again, for putting such a pain filled expression on my favourite tutor's face.

"Miss Asher, please tell me this is your version of a joke and that you have the real essay sitting on your desk," he said, his green eyes begging me to spring up out of my chair and cry "Gotcha!"

I blew out a sigh, suddenly irritable at being called upon.

"Ah, no," I said, trying hard to ignore the twenty five exasperated stares coming from my classmates. I guess being the most literal person in the class hadn't earned me any brownie points. "That's it. The one your holding is the only one I wrote."