It's been five months since I moved into Novaterra. Five whole months. And I have to say, I was enjoying living here.
A lot had changed. The biggest thing was the job. I got hired at a high-end restaurant in the central district. It's called The Gilded Platter. It pays Q65 an hour. To me, that's a fortune.
I work from noon to six, five days a week. Sometimes, when someone calls out sick, I take an extra shift and work until eight. The work is hard, clearing tables, running food, polishing glassware until it shines and dealing with customers who can sometimes be rude. But it's honest work. I get paid for every hour.
Soren and Jamie think I'm underpaid. They hear how much I work and frown.
"For that many hours and that much stress?They're taking advantage," Soren said last week over dinner.
"You should ask for a raise,"Jamie had added, stirring his soup.
To me,it was more than enough. Q65 an hour meant my rent was paid in less than three days of work. It meant I could buy groceries without counting every single coin. It meant I could save a little, a tiny pile of money in a bank account that had only my name on it. That feeling was worth every sore foot and tired night.
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The elevator dinged, the sound soft and familiar. The doors slid open on my floor—the third floor.
"Holly is back!"
I know that's not my name. I've corrected them a thousand times and they refuse to call me Holland.
The shout came from down the hall. It was Jonathan. He came tearing out of his apartment door, his school shirt untucked, his face lit up with a giant grin.
Behind him, moving slower but with just as much excitement, came Catherine and Malcolm. They were all waiting for me, like they did most days.
We all live on the same floor. It's a quiet floor. There are only three apartments up here. Mine, Jonathan's, and Catherine and Malcolm's place.
Thier parents were really nice people.
I had help them babysit the kids one day and soon It became a routine. The school shuttle drops them off around 4:30. I get home from my shift a little after 6:00. Their parents' jobs… well, they aren't the kind with regular hours.
Jonathan's parents run a fabric stall in the market. They leave before sunrise and often don't get back until after dark. On weekends, Jonathan goes with them, tucked behind the counter with a sketchpad.
Catherine and Malcolm's parents are cops. Their work is unpredictable. Sometimes they're home for dinner. Sometimes they're gone for two days straight on patrol or an investigation. They can't take the twins to the station.
So, for a few hours each evening, the third floor becomes my floor. Our floor.
It was surprising, this little family that just appeared. But that's Novaterra. Things just… happen here. And you get used to them.
I've made a lot of changes to my apartment, too. The first big purchase, after my first full paycheck, was a TV. A real, flat-screen viewer. I mounted it on the wall in the living room. The pups love it. It's their reward for getting their homework done.
"Sit calmly, or no TV," I tell them, dropping my work bag by the door. My feet ache, and my shoulders are tight from carrying trays, but seeing them melts the worst of the tiredness away.
It works like magic. The three of them scramble from where they're bouncing around the hallway and make a mad dash for the living room. There's a brief, whispered argument over who gets the middle spot, and then they're lined up on the brown couch, sitting perfectly still, their eyes wide with anticipation.
I had to change the couch. The plain grey ones that came with the apartment were ugly and uncomfortable. I sold them back to the building's furniture exchange and used the credit, plus a little savings, to get a big, soft, brown sectional couch. It's the color of warm earth. It's big enough for all of us to sprawl on. It's my favorite thing in the apartment. It made the sitting room look even more pretty, more like a real home.
"Did you all do your assignments?" I asked, heading to the kitchen. I opened a cupboard and took out a plate,a nice ceramic one with a blue rim that I'd bought at the market. From a high shelf, I retrieved the special tin. Inside were chocolates, the good kind, wrapped in shiny foil. I arranged a few on the plate.
"Yes!" they all chorused, their eyes now darting from the TV to the plate in my hands.
"Let me see," I said, carrying the plate to the low table in front of the couch.
They exploded into motion again, scrambling off the couch to grab their school bags from where they'd dumped them by the door. They ran back, talking all at the same time, a jumble of voices.
"Miss Kara said my drawing was the best and—"
"We had a math quiz and I think I got all the—"
"I need help with the reading log because—"
"Shh," I said, holding up a hand. The chatter stopped. They looked at me, clutching their books and slates. "What did I say about talking at the same time?"
They recited together, their voices practiced, "Only bad kids talk at the same time."
"Are you bad kids?" I asked, trying to keep my face serious.
"No!" they shouted, grinning.
"Good. Now then, from the youngest," I said, settling onto the couch. I patted the spot next to me. "Catherine, you're up."
She climbed up, snuggling close, and opened her learning slate. She showed me her language assignment. She had to write three sentences about her day. She'd written: 'I ate lunch. I played at recess. I came home.'
"These are good sentences,"I said. "But they can be more interesting. What did you eat for lunch?"
"Soup!"she said.
"Okay,let's change it. 'I ate tomato soup for lunch.' See? More interesting." I helped her sound out the new words and watched as she carefully typed them in, her little tongue poking out in concentration.
When she was done, I gave her a chocolate from the plate. Her face lit up.
"Malcolm, you're next."
He had a math puzzle.We went over it together, counting out loud. He'd gotten one grid wrong, so we figured out the right answer. He took his chocolate proudly.
Finally, Jonathan, the youngest at six. He had a reading log. He struggled a bit with a longer word, 'adventure,' so we broke it down together—'ad-ven-ture.' He read his short paragraph slowly but without help, beaming when he finished. He got two chocolates for his extra effort, which made him gasp with happiness.
With the homework checked and chocolates handed out, I finally picked up the viewer remote. "Alright. Jungle Patrol first. Then, if you're all still sitting nicely, Space Explorers."
They cheered, then immediately quieted, becoming perfect, still statues as the cartoon theme song filled the room. I leaned back into my soft brown couch, the weight of a long day finally lifting.