"Duck?" I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. Mom says it's just a nickname, 'cause of my hair. Yellow like a duckling, she laughs. I kind of like it, actually. It's...me. But sometimes, I wish I was stronger. Like Ben, the fifth grader who always hogs the swings. But I always back down. I bite my lip and pick at my shorts. Maybe... maybe if I told Mom and Dad everything. About sneaking into the old school, about the lake... maybe then I wouldn't feel so small.
Comments
0No comments yet.