Untitled story

I'm so sorry that it's not in paragraph format. It was when I typed it up on Word. I'll try to correct it as best I can (:

Chapter 1
The first and last time I saw Nathaniel was a decade ago, though it seems like even longer. He was the only boy I ever comfortably talked to. I wanted him as my friend, but we could never be.
I was helping Ma clean up because some friends of Mrs. Carter were coming by. Once we were done cleaning, Mrs. Carter sent me to the kitchen; she didn’t want her guests to be disturbed by a small colored child.
In the kitchen, I had no company but a couple of spoons and fancy dishes. I pretended that the blue and white tea cup was a knight, off to rescue Princess Saucer. I’m not sure how long Nathaniel was observing my fantasy, but he made his presence known by snorting when the dishware got married.
“Why are you playing with plates?” he asked, amused.
Why did the boy have to be so stupid. “I’m bored,” I replied. “And why are you here?”
“Because I don’t have anything else to do.”
“Ha! That’s the same as being bored.”
“No it isn’t,” he argued.
“Yes it is,” I argued back.
And we argued like fools for a bit longer. Finally, he said “What’s your name.”
“Violet,” I told him.
“Why’s your name Violet? You’re not violet, you’re black.”
His words stung. I held out my arm. “Does this look black to you?” I asked, then went on before he could answer. “It’s not. It’s brown, maybe maroon. But any idiot can tell you that my skin is not black. Besides, I was named after the flower.” I fumed for a few moments. We were quiet as the breeze from the open window played with our hair. The silence got awkward, so I continued. “And your name is?”
He took introducing himself seriously. “My name is Nathaniel James Thompson the third. I am ten years two months old.”
I was very disappointed that he was three years older than me. “Well, I’m eleven,” I lied.
“If that’s true, I’m seventeen.”
“And I’m thirty-two!”
We laughed. We liked pretending to be grown up.
Finally he asked, “How old are you really?”
I looked down, embarrassed. “I’m only --”
I was interrupted by a Mrs. Carter calling from the great room. “Nathaniel! Where are you, child?!” Seconds later, she walked in, and looked ashamed of me.
“Violet, why are you talking to this fine boy? Don’t bother him any longer, you insolent girl. Let’s go back to our tea, Nathaniel. Your mother’s waiting for you.”
“She wasn’t bothering me, Mrs. Carter. We’re friends.”
I felt a bit of a tingle to know that he was protecting me. Mrs. Carter, however, did not share my joy. Quite frankly, she was disgusted. “Nathaniel! You can’t be friends with her. She’s a servant. And she’s black! Now let’s go and have tea.” She dragged him out by his arm. Before they went through the door, Mrs. Carter shot me a look that said she would talk to me later.
But Nathaniel gave me a look that said we would see each other again.
Chapter 2
Ten years later, and I am still working for the Carters. For ten years, I’ve always watched to see if the company the missus has included Nathaniel. It never did, until today.
Mrs. Carter told me early in the morning that some old colleagues of her's were coming. The news didn’t excite me, for I had given up all hope of seeing Nathaniel again. I did my work as usual; swept the floor, arranged the dishes, dusted the dirt. Again, I was told to go into the kitchen. I lingered around, though, until I caught a glimpse of who the guests were. One of them was unmistakably Nathaniel.

Chapter 3
I am in the kitchen now, waiting. My heart pounds, though I do not know the reason. Why am I nervous? Am I just terrified at the prospect of seeing him again? I can’t be positive if he remembers me. I can’t even be positive if he’ll notice me, yet I hope.
I’ve waited for a while; twenty minutes, half an hour? I know they haven’t left, I can hear the chatter coming through the walls that I can’t escape.
At last, I’m given an opportunity. The missus calls for me. “Violet, bring us more tea!” And I do, happily. I carefully carry the teapot to the great room. The missus looks at me, expectant. I am to fill up their cups, something she has never let me do before. As I go to fill Nathaniel’s, I look at him. He acts as though he doesn’t notice, but when I’m finished he thanks me. And smiles. I’m certain he remembers.