Skye Made Time Fly

What amazed P. Martin most about Skye was that nothing flustered him, not the girls’ giggling, not The Gang, not the drudgery of seatwork or having to seat still – not even The Changing of the Seats, which had become a daily occurrence.

“View it as shifting currents,” Mrs. Whimbrel said, on Skye’s second day.  She clicked her stopwatch, and before P. Martin could warn him about Jaeger and Kestrel, Skye was off, skipping around the room and whistling.  Within seconds, he’d claimed his seat.

“Over here, P. Martin,” he chimed out and tapped the desk in front of him.  “You’re right here.”

P. Martin couldn’t believe it!  As small as Skye was, he’d outmaneuvered Jaeger and Kestrel and had sat down, before they’d taken a step.  He laughed, flew to his seat, and before sitting down, ran a circle around it.  “Thanks,” he said, turning to Skye.

From that day on, Skye made time fly.