Those burnt offerings always made me laugh.
I even wrote about the important exam.
Those burnt offerings always made me laugh.
***
A week before Dad died, I begged to stay home with him. He squeezed my hand and told me, “Go build the life we worked for.” His rule was that love meant showing up, especially when it was hard.
When I got back, that note in his shaky handwriting was on the kitchen table.
It became the last line of my essay.
I begged to stay home with him.
***
Miss Garcia, my English teacher, read the first handwritten draft of my essay after class.
“Halle, this is fantastic! I’ve given a few suggestions.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, blushing.
“And breathe. You look like you’ve been holding your breath since September.”
I laughed for the first time in weeks!
“You look like you’ve been holding your breath.”
While I worked hard, Brittany barely studied. She skipped review sessions for parties, copied homework when she could, and loved mocking me for caring about grades.
The cafeteria incident happened the following day.
***
Brittany reached across my table and grabbed the flashcards I was studying. She waved them over her head like a trophy while her friends turned to look.
