Martha Cloud slouched in her chair, cupping her chin in the palm of her hand, and gazed at the red numbers on the wall clock: 6:19 a.m. She turned to glare at the piercing gold rays that mocked her in the east. The bubblegum hues and the wispy navy of the sky jeered back. When Martha was little, her mother would tell her that she should be proud to be born a Cloud because clouds are prominent to the sun. “The clouds are a sun’s shade,” she said, “they prevent the earth from burning out.” But then her mother got terribly sick, bedridden and unable to bask in the sun’s light. And Martha got slammed with hospital bills, unable to fulfill her dream of becoming a teacher and spreading knowledge. Instead, she was stuck as Forrest Elementary’s cleaning lady. The sun was the reason for her scorn.

She sighed, got out of the chair, and began dusting the hazel wood of a bookshelf. As she moved onto Mr. Pine’s classroom, chattery, squealing voices of immature children echoed through the halls she had just sweeped. Martha dragged her bucket into a closet, grunting as she heaved it into the corner.

Murky brown water splashed out from the rims. Martha grumbled to herself, taking out a damp algae-colored towel from her apron. As she finally sidled down the crowded hall, she scowled at every student for stepping on her squeaky clean floor. No one paid attention. No one. 

Turning the corner, Martha noticed Principal Papaya marching toward her with a sneer. Martha had to admit, without the sour appearance, Papaya could’ve passed for a fairly pretty woman. But “Papaya”? As her last name? Principal Papaya was definitely not sugary or sweet. Principal Papaya surveyed the area with a calculating eye. 

“I’m deducting $30 for not cleaning the gum stains from cabinets, $10 for not washing my carpet, and $25 for standing and not working.” 

Martha’s face burned. How DARE she. That knuckleheaded–That– Martha burrowed her fingernails deep into her palms. 

In her cheeriest voice, she responded, “I’ll keep cleaning.” 

Principal Papaya sniffed the air and stomped away. 

What an insufferable lady. 

At 3:16 pm, the brain-wracking bell that screeched and yowled and tore at everyone’s earlobes finally tolled. Martha stretched her arms, time to go home. 

The bed creaked as she sunk into the mattress. Martha phoned her mom. 

“Hello?” 

Martha’s shoulders sagged with relief, “Hi mom, how’s life?” 

Mrs. Cloud chuckled, “My dearie, how are you? You must be tired after a day. I’ve such a hardworking daughter.” 

Martha swallowed the lump in her dry throat and kept out as many details about the school as possible. She felt dreadful lying to her mother. It’s for the best. 

Martha woke up shivering underneath a shabby, bedraggled blanket. Another sunrise. She wished she could cover the sun with a thick Vantablack coated bag so she would never have to witness the arrival of another day.

Stumbling out of her house, she reached into her dented mailbox for her monthly paycheck. Martha groaned. The amount was $100 short! She kicked at the gravel under her feet. Enough is enough! 

Martha arrived at the school earlier than usual. She fidgeted with her hands as she stood in front of Principal Papaya’s big metal office door. 

Principal Papaya leaned backward on her rickety rocking chair. She was hollering at her old fashioned phone, screen cracked and case peeling. 

“I know how to run a school!” 

Martha appeared at the door, picking at her grimy fingernails. 

“Hem. Hem. I was wondering if you could add back the money you took away this morning? I’ll make sure to scrub every corner, please, I really need it.” 

“Yes, yes.” The principal waved her hand carelessly at Martha, while spitting at the phone, “This is MY school. The school board should back off!” Principal Papaya scribbled a spiky check for Martha and slid it to her. 

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” Martha slammed the door, drowning the desperate wails of the principal. What’s she up to? Martha had to get out of there before the principal changed her mind. 

Pressed to the wall, she scooted out of the hallway, finally letting out the breath she held in. Martha smiled as she gazed at the gradually rising sun, which was inching further away from the horizon. This time, I win, Martha thought to the sun. 

The students were lazily piling in. They resembled ants that recently escaped a grasshopper, with pinched-faces, disheveled uncombed hair, and oversized sweaters. Martha scrunched her nose. 

As she mopped and organized, her thoughts wandered: Why was Principal Papaya so distressed? The principal’s authority did a good job putting her in her place. As dawn blurred to dusk, and Martha flicked off the last lights, a piercing squeal ripped through the hallways. Her heart sped up. What was that? Martha checked her half-cracked watch, the school had closed to all the students already. Could it be Principal Papaya? Martha tip-toed towards the principal’s office. Light squeezed through the crack in her door as her shrill voice bounced through the echoey hall. 

“…I-I’ll do anything! I’m sorry!” Papaya cried. 

A familiar voice roared, “…SURPRISE MY DAUGHTER BECAUSE I WAS DISCHARGED FROM THE HOSPITAL! AND I SEE HER WITH A MOP!” “I’M SORRY. Forgive me!” 

Principal Papaya was cut off angrily once again, “Elio loves me! He chose me. Just because you’re jealous of our love doesn’t mean you turn our daughter–your niece–into your slave!” Martha heard a hand slap the mahogany desk. “Elio’s on the school board, you know. I know you’re already on thin ice with them. I could have you fired like that!” She snapped her fingers.

“I’ll make it up to you. Please don’t turn the school board against me! I’LL APOLOGIZE!” 

Martha’s veins turned to ice. Standing, was a woman with the same face shape, and blazing fearsome eyes. She breathed, Mom’s out of the hospital? Principal Papaya’s my aunt?