The Ring

         "Are you sure about this?" I asked my friend for the millionth time. 

         "Yes! I do this all the time." 

         "All the time?" I asked concerned.

        "Would you just trust me?" 

        "Last time I did that, we ended up in a ditch and I got grounded for a month. Imagine how much trouble we'd get in for this."

        "Ahh yes," she exhaled dramatically, closing her eyes for a moment, "that was the most boring and quiet summer I ever faced. But," she said, wagging her finger dangerously close to my eyeballs, "trust me on this one." Pfft as if it was that easy. 

       She turned her back on me and started scooping coins from the wishing well and packing them in her small black backpack, sitting at the edge of the fountain.

      "Imagine all the hopeful wishes that people made while throwing their spare change in this fountain." 

       Alia drew out a long breath, "Fineeee, I guess we have to find another way of raising money for the ring." You might be asking, why would two teenagers be looking for a ring? The answer lies in the fact that one idiot sold it decades ago in exchange for financial stability. I know I wasn't alive then, but I've heard enough. 

        This priceless family heirloom held the family together. But after its loss, uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents turned on each other, like savages. It was like survival of the fittest stuffed into one day.  As the years went by, the snarky remarks got worse, petty arguments turned to feuds, and let's just say, it wasn't a euphoric or perfect Utopia anymore. I can't even remember the last time I left from Thanksgiving without someone crying or carrying a black eye. Clearly, the ring had some mystical power behind it, thus making it that much more important that me and Alia buy it from the local pawn shop. 

      Alia emptied out her bag of coins and walked alongside me as a slight drizzle fell upon us. We hurriedly walked towards the nearest store. We found ourselves in the pawn shop, the same one the ring was held. 

       I walked up to the register, "Is there any other way we can get our ring back?" I plopped my arms on the dark mahogany table, giving my best pouty face. The owner eyed me suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. Finally, she relented. She drew out an exasperated breath and went to fetch the ring. The owner, Barbara, which I just learned, held it out in front of me saying, "I'll let you have the ring. On one condition. You must come back here, everyday after school and clean up my shop. No excuses, and no days off. Seems fair, right?" Alia and I quickly nodded our heads. We gratefully said goodbye to the owner and skipped back home with the precious ring in our hands. 

Oh, I can't wait for Thanksgiving!