“It’s too big, and it’s creaky, and it’s peeling.” I pointed out the spots on the sides of the big old house. Muddy brown house with gray spots, like a giant chocolate milk cow that got sick.
“And lookit the trees!” I said, mad now. “They’re too little to build anything in! No treehouses or even a tire to swing on.”
She looked up at the spiny branches of the apple trees and then made a sad face at me.
“And I hate the yard,“ I pouted. “There’s no room for tag, and nothing to hide in. There’s not even a swingset!”
She put her arm around me and grinned her best-friend grin.
“I really don’t like the boring old bedroom.” I twirled my ponytail. “You should see it. It’s orange! Horrible pumpkiny orange.”
She squeezed me tight.
“And it’s so lonely,” I whispered to her. “I can’t hear your voice here.”
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