M&Ms

2-15-06
My brother came running into my room, “Mommy and Daddy have M&Ms for us downstairs!” he told me, in French. Excited, I jumped up and followed him downstairs.
My dad had a small bowl full of M&Ms, “You can have these,” he said holding them out towards me, “if you ask for them in English.” He said all of this in French.
“Okay, how do you ask for stuff in English?” I asked in French, excited at the prospect of getting M&Ms.
“You know how,” he answered simply (in French), holding the M&Ms out towards me. On the contrary, I only knew three words in English, “Yes,” “No,” and “Please.” Asking for M&Ms was not yet part of my vocabulary.
“I don’t know how,” I told my dad again.
“Stop messing around, Myriam,” he said sternly now, “You’re not getting the M&Ms until you ask for them in English” and with that he took the M&Ms back to the kitchen counter. Meanwhile, Phil was on top of things, he had finished his M&Ms and he was floating around the kitchen,
“Can I have the …jus de pomme (apple juice)?” He asked my mom half in English and half in French.
“Of course, bien sûr, Philippe,” she answered him smiling. Phil got the apple juice out of the fridge.
“Can I have the… verre (cup)?” Phil asked my mom.
“Of course,” and she handed him a cup.
“See, your brother has the hang of it,” my dad said to me in French, and he smiled as Phil asked for yet another thing:
“Can I have the… jus de pomme, encore (apple juice, again)? he asked, oblivious to my inability to ask for things in English. I did not understand what my brother was saying, it sounded like Chinese. I could not have repeated it, even for a bowl of M&Ms. So I stood against the wall in the kitchen while my dad raised his eyebrows at me.
“Do you want the M&Ms or not?” he asked, in French.
“I don’t know how—”
“Yes you do, stop messing around.” My dad gave me a questioning look. Losing all taste for M&Ms, I started to inch away from the kitchen, fighting back tears. “Where are you going?” admonishingly now, “just ask for the M&Ms. It’s not that hard.” He was certain that after hearing my brother say it three times, I would know how to ask too. But I didn’t…
“I don’t want them,” I told my dad in broken French. I did not want him to think I was stupid because I could not say, “Can I have the…”“Just ask for them!”
“I don’t know how!” And with that I ran out of the kitchen.
As I ran up the stairs to my room, I ran into my brother,
“You didn’t want your M&Ms?” he asked me, in French, and innocently. He meant no harm, but oh how I hated him just then.We both went into my room and colored with my crayons. Phil sat right by me.
“Can I have the… morceau de papier (piece of paper)?” Phil asked, smiling. I glared silently, but handed him a piece of paper. “Can I have the… craie rouge (red crayon)?” and I handed him the red crayon. A few minutes passed and, “Can I have the… craie verte (green crayon)?” and I handed him the green crayon. After Phil had asked for about five crayons, I finally unglued my tongue and asked him,
“Can I have the… craie rouge (red crayon)? I took the red crayon and colored in my last M&M. Then I got up and casually strolled up to my father,
“Can I have the… M&Ms?”
“Tu vois, you see?” and he handed me the M&Ms, “You knew all along.”

The end of that is entirely made up, I don't remember how that particular incident ended. All the way up to the part where I run away, however, the events are real. The interchanging of French and English is slightly confusing, so is my shaky use of dialogue. Otherwise, it has the prerequisite of tenseness and is well written.