Short story contest winner: “A Thread, Not a Blanket”

The following is the winning entry in the Town of Oyen Library’s Short Story Contest. Congratulations to grade 7 student, Rowenna Broadhead. We will print this over the next two editions of The Oyen Echo.

A Thread, Not a Blanket

By Rowenna Broadhead
Grade 7

Part 1

"A single thread is weaved with others to make a blanket. The blanket is made up of many threads. The blanket is the finished project; the thread is part of the finished project. There are many threads, but the blanket is many threads put together. We are all threads—"

"Except for me. I am the blanket!" I interrupted.

Laughter filled the classroom. The teacher gave me the look and then pretended she hadn't heard. I heard comments like, "Nice one, Deral!" and "Couldn't have said it better myself."

I grinned. I was the blanket. I was the leader, the most important. The shepherd to straying sheep, the king to all his subjects. I always knew what I was doing; I always had everything under my control. I reigned. No one ever objected to my authority—or they were kicked out. I was the boss. I was captain of whichever team I was part of, and if they didn't let me lead, I quit. It worked quite well for me. I never had too much on my plate, just enough to keep me busy. All my subjects respected me, so it worked well. If they objected, then they were forced to leave. Simple.

The teacher droned on about us being the threads and that no one was more important than the other, and stuff like that. Eventually, class was over. I called my subjects together—everyone in the class, except for a few of the "don't want you as leader" girls. Everyone, including the new kid, William.

I told them my plan to get everyone into the adult choir so that we could ruin it. It sounded like my best scheme yet. I told my subjects how to stand on top of each other because we were too short to be adults. We also needed to use makeup to look older. We would get makeup from the girls.

William did not approve.

"Why do we want to mess up the choir? Why can't we start our own choir instead?"

I told William to leave. If he wanted to be a goody-two-shoes, he could. I wasn't a bad person myself; I just wanted to have fun. What was so wrong with that?

"The choir meets in our gym at five. Remember to go get makeup done at three. We slip out by the excuse 'going to the park with friends,' right?" Everyone nodded. I was super excited. The only problem was the potential tattle-tale new kid. The rest of school was filled with anticipation. Everyone was excited—except William.

Time went by, and when three struck, I told my mom the rehearsed excuse and went to Lizzy's house. Most people were there, and we started the makeup. Lizzy was especially good at putting wrinkles on with her eyeliner. Soon, we looked grown-up and unrecognizable.

I was surprised to see William. He hadn't gotten any makeup on. All he was doing was talking to my subjects.

"Do you need makeup?" I asked.

"No," he responded.

"Do you need a partner to stand on top of you?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

"What do you want!" I shouted.

"To tell you to stop," he answered.

The room fell silent.

"We aren't going to!" I retorted. He sighed deeply before leaving Lizzy's. I couldn't care less.

Almost everyone had their makeup on. It was hard to tell who was who under the thick makeup mask. After that, we stacked up and practiced moving. After a few topples, we got the hang of it.

We put on some of Lizzy's dress-up accessories and started towards the school. The conductor was the only one there.

"Well, I don't think I've met you before. Are you here to join the choir?"

I made sure to use my deepest, most serious voice while balancing carefully on my partner.

"Yes, we have come to join." The conductor looked slightly surprised, probably shocked at my deep tone, but he welcomed me in all the same and pointed to some stands. I directed my partner to a spot by a stand. The group followed. Soon, other choir members showed up—most were elderly. They filtered in slowly and were assisted by the conductor.

After everyone was ready, the conductor raised his baton. Everyone took a deep breath. Then, half my group sang Jingle Bells while the others screamed at the top of their lungs. The other adults sang their assigned parts. The conductor desperately tried to cut off the singing, but we kept going until one pair collapsed.

"RUN!" I hollered. Everyone jumped off their partner and bolted, leaving a stunned conductor and choir behind. Those on top had difficulties running with baggy clothes that were no longer shared with the other partner.

Everyone made a safe exit—everyone, but me.

I tripped over the suit I was wearing, and the conductor was on me in an instant, demanding that I explain everything.

I had no choice but to tell him—everything. I was punished severely by both my parents and the principal of the school. I was in deep water. I must have lost my touch. When did I become so sloppy? Best to be more on guard in the future.

Continued next week.