Submissions are open to one piece of fiction completed for coursework during the last calendar year. Submissions should not exceed 20 pages. Charlee Andree wrote the 1st place submission in the Fiction Category for the 2025 President’s Writing Awards.
About Charlee
Charlee Andree is an English and Math Secondary Education major, graduating in May of 2026. She is from Boise, ID and attended Colorado State University for two years before transferring home. Charlee loves to be outside: skiing at Bogus, swimming in the river, hunting for hot springs or going on beautiful hikes. She loves to read, paint, and most recently, knit. Charlee loves to learn and hopes to impart that love onto her future students one day. She is excited and grateful to be a part of this collection and hopes you enjoy her piece “Tooth Fairy!”
Winning Manuscript – Tooth Fairy
“Get your fingers out of your mouth, please.”
They sat in the Jiffy Lube waiting room. Maria remembered when there used to be popcorn here, served in small waxy bags. She remembered it was alarmingly yellow and tasted like salt and fake cheese, deliciously disgusting. She wondered what happened. Were the customers too greedy, eating too much? Did people spill kernels all over the linoleum?
Sitting restlessly next to his mother, Cash dangled his feet over the floor, swinging them back and forth. His index finger pressed against his lips, tempted. The tooth bothered him. It had been bothering him for days. He messed with it when he woke up in the morning, prodding it with the synthetic bristles of his Spiderman toothbrush. He messed with it on the bus to school. He messed with it at school, especially when his teacher, Mr. Jabby, was talking. Sometimes he used his tongue to mess with it. He would push the tip of it right onto the prickly base of the tooth and gently shift it side to side, front to back. He despised the feeling of looseness in his mouth but it was still addictive, like an insatiable itch. His only concern while wiggling his tooth was that he would swallow it accidentally. Then, the tooth fairy would not come, Cash wouldn’t get his dollar, and all of that wiggling would be for nothing.
“Maria?” The mechanic lady stuck her head into the empty waiting room, peering in with thick lashed eyes, “We’re ready for ya.”
She swiftly gathered up their things, “C’mon Cash. Grab your jacket.” It had spilled onto the floor in a dark puddle. Maria grabbed Cash’s hand, picked up the jacket, tucked her phone into her armpit and fished in her purse. She pulled out her wallet and they followed the woman out of the waiting room.
The sound of drills and buzzing and banging and the smell of grease and metal jumped at Cash. He could feel the vibrations in his mouth, rattling his tooth. The woman led them to a boxy computer near the noise. Cash looked up at the mechanic lady. Her eyes looked kind of like beetles, big black ones with spindly eyelash legs and slick glossy backs. He imagined them crawling down her cheeks and neck and he shivered, just a little.
“We went ahead with the synthetic and changed out the air filter for ya too. I’ve got a couple quick questions and then you guys will be on your way!”
Awfully chipper, Maria thought. The mechanic lady went through the list: new windshield wipers would get you through the winter, no thank you, we’d recommend doing a headlight restoration today to help you out as it gets darker outside, no thank you, how about any help fixing that chip in the windshield, no thank you, just the oil change please. Maria paid and they were done.
“Put your jacket on, please.”
It was drizzling when they got home, the sky gray and muted. Cash turned his face up into the air as Maria unbuckled him. Mist clung to his eyelashes in a way that felt like sleep and a stray droplet or two struck his nose and mouth. He remembered a story from a long time ago about a mouse sailing on a paper boat in the rain. The mouse was brown and the paper boat was blue but he couldn’t remember why it was raining. Those kinds of stories always had a reason.
Did Grandma still tell that story? Cash’s tooth ached so he pressed on it hard, listening for the crack. He blinked mist from his eyes and carried his backpack inside.
“Stephen!” Maria shouted as they entered the house, dumping her purse and keys and shoes at the door, “Wipe your feet on the mat, Cash, and hang up your jacket.” She shoved her feet into her house slippers, made sure Cash had wiped his shoes, and started undoing her frizzy braid. The house smelled. She didn’t know what it was. Like warm sweat or maybe soup? But certainly something had burnt.
“Stephen!”
When her younger brother had first moved in with them, Maria was hopeful. This could be a new beginning for them. Stephen would be able to get his feet under him, find a job with good insurance, and keep himself sane.
Her mom said they wouldn’t support him anymore. She’d said, “Something is wrong, Maria. There’s not a trace of him left.” She used words like “burden,” “devil,” and “ungracious.” Cruel words. Maria couldn’t forgive her mother for tearing them all apart, not yet.
But things had been good, for the most part, certainly not as successful as she’d hoped but Stephen surprised her. He loved Cash. He loved to vacuum. The visits to the psychiatrist had been easy enough and he took his meds. Mostly.
Stephen looked immensely small in the kitchen, standing over the stove like something had exploded and he couldn’t figure out what. He looked his age, she thought, like the irresponsible twenty year old he was. The dining table was a wreck. Sheets of graph paper, tracing paper, ballpoint pens and rulers were strewn about the surface. She saw markers uncapped and this morning’s mug still planted firmly in the middle, like the eye of the storm. “What are you doing?”
He looked up at her with huge eyes, “I made soup.”
She peered over his shoulder into the hot black mess that once was something resembling broth and chicken. “How can you fuckup a can of soup, Stephen? It literally says exactly what to do.”
He huffed and turned away from her, “There was too much going on. I forgot it was cooking and then I got hungry again and I checked and it was like that and then you were home and I figured you would give me a hard time over it so here we are and I still haven’t eaten-”
“Stephen. There’s stuff for sandwiches in the fridge,” She waved her hand dismissively, “You clean the pot.”
His energy was frantic and she could feel his effort to restrain himself. She didn’t know what but forgetfulness was certainly not the whole story. It never was with him. Especially with that mess of the dining table. She turned to the fridge as Stephen dumped the pot’s hot contents into the trash.
“Mama.”
“Yes, Cash?”
“Mr. Jabby gave us a homework assignment.”
“Hmm?”
“Mr. Jabby gave us a home work assignment. I need to listen to a story and write it.”
“Jabrowski, Cash. You can’t call him, Jabby. People will think you’re talking about someone scary or something.”
“Mama.”
She looked up from the ham, cheese, lettuce, the mess of condiments and the tomatoes she was slicing. Stephen faced her from the sink and Cash stood barely a foot behind her, waving his homework in the air. Maria felt her eye twitch.
She said, “Help Cash with his homework, please, Stephen.”
Maria returned to the sandwiches as both boys shuffled away to wait for her. She thought of her father, suddenly. He was tall, folded in strange ways like an envelope, and his knees would bang against the dinner table as he took his seat. It would rattle the cutlery and shift the butter dish. He would stiffen when her mother sighed heavily, scolding him for his carelessness. They had eaten deliberately, meticulously polite at their mother’s table.
Most nights, they would still sit together after dinner. Maria and their mother would clear away the dishes. Then, Mom would go lay down on the blue loveseat in Dad’s office. They looked at homework. Dad would loosen his tie with his fat fingers and point his pencil at their spelling lists and addition practice, then their book reports and algebra review packets, and then he would mark up their essay drafts, emphasize the need for precise language and say “the word count is the destination, not the goal, Stephen, be specific.” He was the most brilliant man. “Shit!”
She had nicked her pointer finger. The blood seeped onto her plastic cutting board, mingling with the tomato juice and running into the grooves and knife marks . The skin of her finger was a miniature canyon, oozing.
Stephen was beside her, “What did you do?”
“I cut myself,” She squeezed her eyes shut, “Go get the bandaids.”
Stephen nodded his head of dark, shaggy hair, and his skinny shoulders rounded forward as he rushed to the bathroom. Cash was beside her.
“Mama, are you okay?”
“Yeah, baby, I’ll be fine. Your sandwich is ready if you want it. Be careful with your tooth. You don’t want to swallow it,” She stuck her finger in her mouth, tasting the blood as it slid down her throat.
“Okay,” he said.
Cash walked his plate over to the table and set it down on top of the papers. He moved them away, shifting them so corners aligned with corners and the black slashes of charcoal across them faced down into the table. The images were strange and scary. They looked like shadows thrown across the floor of his bedroom, the ones that the hallway night light made when hitting the pile of clothes and toys by the door. Cash was never afraid of monsters like other kids his age but he always wondered if shadows could come alive. These papers made them look alive.
He wondered if floor shadows could snatch a tooth from a little boy’s mouth. Would they tear it from his gums, snapping the tendons like thread? Would they stop the tooth fairy from taking her treasure, rising up from the carpet as alligators and ripping her from the air, sucking her body from the delicate wings like a shrimp from its shell? His fingers found the tooth and he pushed it hard towards the back of his throat. He heard the clicking sound it made, snapping against his gums. Back and forth. His throat clenched.
“Stop messing with your tooth and eat your food, Cash.” Mama watched him from the sink where she was washing out her finger.
Cash wondered if the alligator shadows would leave any mess of the tooth fairy, like Mama’s finger. He ate his sandwich carefully and watched his uncle bandage Maria’s finger. Her lips made funny shapes as he wrapped it, like they were glued together and she was trying to speak.
“Hopefully it won’t bleed through,” Stephen said.
“Yeah. Here. Eat.” Maria gave him his plate, “I’m going outside. Please help him with the story, Stephen. And put the plates in the dishwasher when you’re done.”
Cash watched as his uncle sat across from him. Stephen’s cheeks were chubby and his hands were very large. They looked like bratwurst, thick. His uncle’s eyes were dark like Mama’s but where she was soft and scrutinizing, Steven was charged and critical. They were very different.
“So what’s this project, Cash Money?”
“Couldn’t you hear Mama? I need a story to write down.”
“Jeez. Well, what kind?”
“I don’t know. Maybe something sorta sad,” Cash looked at the ceiling, “I think everyone else will do happy stories and I don’t want to do something everyone else is doing.” Stephen watched Cash. The crusts left on the little boy’s plate formed a sort of fractured heart shape, the dark bread crushed up by bite marks. Something sad, huh? He thought about his sister and remembered how she had moved around the house like a ghost, a shell, after her husband died. He remembered how comically large her tears were when the doctors told them Dad had lung cancer. He thought about the oddly familiar man he’d seen in the grocery store the other day, dressed in blue and wearing fancy loafers. He still couldn’t place him. Cash wanted a sad story. Something like charcoal, that same marking quality. Something a first grader could understand. Something true.
“Okay, I’ve got one.”
Cash looked at his uncle, pushed his plate aside, and pulled out a sheet of lined paper, the kind with big, fat spaces, and a blue pencil. He stuck his finger in his mouth, wiggled his tooth, and listened.
“Marisa and Andy, Andy… Jenkins, were going steady for a while. Dating. They went to movies and out to dinner. He bought her fancy pasta and a pair of red sunglasses. Andy told her she looked like a movie star in them and she started wearing those glasses everywhere. He called her landline every night at 7, and she answered even when she was all tired and sweaty from volleyball practice. They were with each other whenever Marisa could be and Andy asked to see her constantly. Sometimes he even called the landline more than once in a day. She stopped hanging out with her friends and her grades got worse in school. Marisa’s family started to worry about her, just a little at first, but soon, they were full blown freaked out.
“One night, Marisa’s parents sat her down at the table. Her mother adjusted the butter dish and her father folded his hands in front of him.
“Marisa,” they said, “You’re barely passing your classes and you haven’t seen any of your friends in weeks. We’re worried about you. Andy is taking up too much of your time.” “She agreed.
“Andy called at 5:30 that evening and said he just had to take her out. He had a surprise. Marisa sighed, she agreed, she got ready. Andy picked her up at 7, took her out to dinner and they drove to the lake. Marisa started to get nervous. She had to break up with him tonight but she couldn’t definitely couldn’t do it on the boat.
They rowed out on the lake. Andy talked about the stars, told her how much he loved her, proposed a trip to the coast, just them, and mused about the future, they would be together forever, you know. When they were parked in front of her house, Marisa felt sick, but she had to end it.
“I’m sorry, Andy but I can’t do this anymore.”
“What?”
“I can’t be your girlfriend. My family is worried about me.”
“What does that have to do with us?”
“I’m failing two of my classes and I hardly have time for my friends.”
“Marisa, everyone fails their classes once in a while and it’s good to take time from your friends. There’s more to the world than them.”
‘I know that.”
“So then why are you doing this!”
“Andy, you’re just…,” She paused and bit her lip, “you’re just an eater.”
“He scowled, “What?”
“You’re an eater! You eat up my time. You eat up my words and spit them out in ways that make me feel horrible…,” She pressed her hands together tightly in her lap, “You eat up my energy and I don’t even have time for volleyball anymore. I just can’t do it, Andy, I can’t let myself get taken up by you.”
“What is wrong with you, Marisa?”
“I’m sorry.” She left the car quickly.
“Andy still called every night and watched her walk to her car after volleyball practice. He couldn’t let her go. It got so bad that her Dad decided to take the new job offer in California. They moved. Marisa got older and happier and she had a really cool kid and they lived happily ever after. The End.”
Cash put his pencil down, “I don’t think Mr. Jabby will like this story.”
Stephen shrugged, “Who cares? You did the assignment.”
Cash pushed his tongue against the tooth. He heard it crack a little more, “Okay.” They got up, put their plates in the sink, and went looking for Maria.
Maria was out on the patio smoking a cigarette. The yard needed so much work. Maybe she should just let the weeds take it over. She’d got her hopes up when Stephen promised Cash to plant a vegetable garden, just like the one at grandma’s. He had waved his hands wildly in the air, explaining the medicinal and spiritual properties of cherry tomatoes. She should’ve realized it was the mania then.
Maria’s finger throbbed and her head pounded. She needed a vacation. She could call Heather, set up a playdate for the boys, and drive to the coast. Throw her shoes off and read a book on the rocks. Drink a beer. She took a big drag and crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. It was time for bed.
The next morning was chaotic as usual but she got to work on time, thank god. Stephen still had the job at Walmart, also thank god. She couldn’t imagine what he would do to her house if left alone all day. Had they gotten the story done for Cash last night? She didn’t even check. Ugh. One more thing to worry about today.
Maria sat through three meetings and an hour of payroll. She worked on a presentation for the board. She bought sticky notes and took a walk. At 2:30, she got a phone call. “Hello?”
“Is this Maria Adams?”
“This is. Can I ask who’s calling?”
The line was quiet a moment and Maria felt a wave of nausea.
“Is everything okay?” She asked, quickly.
“Uh, yeah. Yes, everything is fine. I just wanted to let you know that Cash lost his tooth. I, uh, also had a quick question about Cash’s story assignment.”
“Oh,” She breathed, “Are you Mr. Jabrowski?”
“Yes, uh, Andy Jabrowski.”
“Oh! It’s nice to finally talk to you,” she said, “I’m so sorry again about missing parent teacher conferences last week. We had a family thing come up.”
Mr. Jabrowski took a moment to respond, “I read Cash’s story. Is that what you think about me, Maria?”
“Excuse me?” She felt her hands shake.
He bit out a short laugh, “I mean, seriously Maria, we were kids. It’s been years. You’re going to tell that story to your son, like that? For a fucking assignment–”
“Woah. What are you talking about, Mr. Jabrowski?”
“And Marisa, too. Quite the clever name change. You really got the dramatization in there,” He said sarcastically, “Did you really call me an eater to your family?”
Suddenly, his voice was incredibly familiar.
“Andy.” Maria’s throat shut and her heart dropped into her stomach. She bolted out of her chair and reached for her purse. It was a fifteen minute drive to the school. “You know,” Andy spoke slowly, “I’ve changed, Maria. This time, I thought we could be better, we could be a family. But then you had to tell Cash that story– ”
“I didn’t!” She nearly shouted, “My brother helped him with that. He’s, he hasn’t been in the best headspace lately. Andy, I don’t understand what’s happening.”
What the hell was Stephen thinking telling that story? Maria imagined Andy as a fox, with big, sharp teeth. She remembered his hands and the half-moons his nails bit into her arms. She felt the sour, bone-deep fear that had plagued her as a young woman burrow itself into her stomach. This couldn’t be happening.
“I’ve always loved you Maria,” His breath was hot and heavy through the phone, “I know you still love me too.”
“I’m hanging up now, Andy,” Maria bit her lip hard, “I’m driving to the school.” –
In his classroom, the walls were blue. There were alphabet and number charts on the walls. He had written the day’s date on the whiteboard. Kids backpacks hung from hooks in a row of cubbies. It was warm, it smelled like chalk.
Andy stared down at his new, shiny black loafers and clutched his phone tightly. An eater. Did she really think of him like that? All he ever did was love her, devote his time to her. So what if he expected the same from her? So what if he wanted her to be his everything? He would be better than her dead husband. He would never abandon her like that.
Andy stared at Cash’s tooth, shiny white inside the ziplock. Cash had been so excited, elated, even, when he twisted it from his mouth during the math lesson. Andy had imagined the crack of the twist and pull when Cash told him about the tooth fairy and the dollar she’d leave for him. He held open the ziploc for Cash to put the tooth in and wrote the kid’s name in Sharpie.
He did all of that for her kid. Maria’s son with somebody else, a goddamn, dead prick. She didn’t deserve to play tooth fairy. Andy wouldn’t let her do that for his kid. An eater. A fucking eater. How could she call him that? How dare she call him that. Andy yanked open the ziploc and tapped the tooth into his palm. It was smaller than he’d imagined. Whiter. An eater.
Andy stroked the delicate ridges of the baby tooth, cradled in his palm. He’d watched Maria for years, changed his name after graduating highschool, and rented an apartment in her city, always close by. Was it all for nothing? All of that energy wasted?
He smacked his palm against his mouth. The thin tooth scraped his tongue, touching his taste buds. He shivered as he tasted copper, letting the tooth roll across his tongue like a mint to be savored. It was slick and sharp and tapping against his own teeth, it made little clicking sounds. He pressed the tooth against the roof of his mouth, enjoying its hard, clean taste.
Triumphant and exhilarated, Andy closed his eyes. He tilted his head back, staring at the classroom’s ceiling. This was power. This was control. He felt the grooves of the tooth scratch his throat, small and sharp like a popcorn kernel.
Imagining his future, he swallowed the sharp little tooth whole.