(no subject)
The kitchen cupboards are always a mess. It doesn't seem to matter how often Cassie arranges them, each time she returns to disarray. It's all right, she supposes, for it gives her something with which to be occupied, and god knows there are never any parties as Cassie's known them to fill her time on the island. And when there are parties...when there are...
Lovely people like Nate ask her to dance, and touch her shoulder and her hand, and smile brilliant and bright and someone's put a can of soup in with the cans of applesauce. Cassie picks it up with care, settling it next to the cans of beef broth, and moves a can of tomatos between the soup and the tins of peaches.
He'd been very kind to her at the party. Cassie hadn't expected to be spoken to there, let alone asked to dance, but Nate had done both, and his hands had been warm and a bit bigger than hers, and someone's been very careless with the spices. They aren't arranged by colour at all, and Cassie takes her time, moving the chili and the cinnamon and the saffron together, carefully placing each label so that it faces outward.
It looks a bit better when she's done, she thinks, and wonders if she'd be more lovely if she had dark hair like Nate's American girlfriend, the pretty girl who moves like a dancer. Cassie's own toes curl in her slippers - she's had a lesson here and there, but not enough to take, and she'd probably be rubbish if she tried anything. Cassie's always rubbish, but there are potatoes in a basket in the corner of the pantry all tumbled together, and she could have them sorted in only a few moments time.
Spreading her skirt, Cassie settles on the floor and draws the basket to her, taking the potatoes out one at a time.
Lovely people like Nate ask her to dance, and touch her shoulder and her hand, and smile brilliant and bright and someone's put a can of soup in with the cans of applesauce. Cassie picks it up with care, settling it next to the cans of beef broth, and moves a can of tomatos between the soup and the tins of peaches.
He'd been very kind to her at the party. Cassie hadn't expected to be spoken to there, let alone asked to dance, but Nate had done both, and his hands had been warm and a bit bigger than hers, and someone's been very careless with the spices. They aren't arranged by colour at all, and Cassie takes her time, moving the chili and the cinnamon and the saffron together, carefully placing each label so that it faces outward.
It looks a bit better when she's done, she thinks, and wonders if she'd be more lovely if she had dark hair like Nate's American girlfriend, the pretty girl who moves like a dancer. Cassie's own toes curl in her slippers - she's had a lesson here and there, but not enough to take, and she'd probably be rubbish if she tried anything. Cassie's always rubbish, but there are potatoes in a basket in the corner of the pantry all tumbled together, and she could have them sorted in only a few moments time.
Spreading her skirt, Cassie settles on the floor and draws the basket to her, taking the potatoes out one at a time.