"Evangeline?"
"Melody," she corrects, for the sake of the kids, but I know better.
"You're a great storyteller, Miss Melody!" says a boy enthusiastically.
"It's no big deal," replies Evangeline. "What's are your names, dear?"
Still trying to keep up reputation?
"This is Judy, my sister," the same boy replies, pointing at the lad who asked me to tell a story in first place and started the whole mess.
"Charming, charming," Evangeline muses.
"And this is Goofy, Büdi, Moody, Noodle, who's also called Noodi, Foodie, Hoodie, not to be confused with Whoodie over there, Ludy, Kudie, Doodi, Goodie and Poody. Oh, and do NOT call him Poo for short. I'm Woody."
"How very...quaint," Evangeline comments, but I can tell that her tone is forced.
A girl (I think she's Doodi) asks, "What's your name, cherub?"
What the fuck? Cherub?
"Are you trying to flirt with me?" I demand.
"What does flirt mean?" asked Noodle the nerd, the same boy who asked me what 'shit' means.
"If you flirt with a person, usually of the opposite gender, unless you're gay, you play with them by sweet-talking them," I explain.
"What does 'gay' mean?"
"A gay is a homosexual."
"What does 'homosexual' mean?"
"If you're homosexual or gay, that means you want to marry boys, not girls. Like if Cinderella's prince were homosexual, he would have invited boys of all ages to his stupid ball, not girls," I roll my eyes.
Noodle asks again, "What is 'sweet-talking'?"
I yawn. "I'll demonstrate, if you don't mind, Miss Melody," I hiss the last two words at her. Then I force my stubborn lips into a charming smile, and wink at my apprentice.
I am humiliated. I have to bow to a bunch of stupid kids. And I have to flirt with the girl I hate.
"Are you made of copper (Cu) and tellurium (Te)? Because you're cute," I say.
I expected Evangeline to snicker or roll her eyes, but instead she giggled. "Are you made of iodine (I), lutetium (Lu), vanadium (V) and uranium (U)? Because I love you (I luv u)." Then she made a face. "Now enough with the demonstrating. Our Dunce of the Day, Orson Goldbloom here, officially cannot flirt."
"Miss Melody? Are you and Orson a couple?" asked a little girl. Whoodie, I think.
"No, and if you'll excuse me, I have a date with my girlfriend, and she hatea it when I'm late," I invent as I leave the library. It hadn't helped. As I turn to close the door, I see Evangeline mouth, "Girlfriend?!"
Okay, I don't really have a girlfriend, but getting away from the mini-psychopaths and the look on Evangeline Youngspire's face was more than worth it.
As soon as I get my grateful ass away from the library, I try to plan my next move. I try to take a relaxing stroll by myself, but of course, that wouldn't work out either.
"Goldbloom!"
I turn to see one of my co-working angels. "Yes, Gabby?"
"I heard the scoop. You and Evangeline are together, right?" Gabby asked.
What?!
"No, Gabby, that Youngspire girl and I are not together," I respond honestly.
"Oh, come on!" Gabby says, slapping me on the back. "Even the All-Father knows! Tell me about it! How did you get her? Did you buy her flowers or..."
"Or what?" I demand. "I don't even like her! I swear..."
"I quote, 'Lovebirds, lovebirds, flocking in a herd; lovebirds, lovebirds, your deception's so absurd'," Gabby chanted. "Evangeline's a great poet, you know."
Does he expect me to say something like, "yeah, that's why I love her."
"As a matter of fact, I think you like him," I try.
Gabby wasn't fooled. "Heavens, no, I would never leave my girl Angela."
Oh yeah. Gabby has a girlfriend.
"What's your point?" I asked.
Gabby grinned devilishly. The afternoon sun had brushed his ashy brown hair, and gleamed upon his feathered wings, which made him even brighter than usual. "I wanted to ask you and Evan to the grasslands by Hell's gorge this Sunday afternoon. It's beautiful there. You. Me. Evan. Angela. The four of us, a double date. What do you say?"
"What? Miss Youngspire isn't my lover! I swear, I don't even like her! She's just my apprentice!" I protested.
"Aww," Gabby sighed. "Fine. Guess I'll just have to find somebody else."
"What do you mean?" I ask suspiciously.
"Angela's wanted to go on a double date for ages. Oh, and the All-Father wants to see you in the sapphire conference room by 5:30 p.m., by the way."
"I see," I glance at my watch. Wait, it's 5:27?! "Gotta go! Bye!"
I raced down the corridors to the sapphire room.
"You're late, Goldbloom."
Shit!