Image via cherylholt from Pixabay

The dust settled on the pitcher’s mound as the boys cleared the field. The drone of “Good game, good game, good game,” drifted back behind the metal bleachers where two girls squatted over a tube of lipstick. Dirt stuck to the black, marbled exterior of the tube. The older girl popped the lid off, revealing an outrageously red stub. She raised it to the younger girl’s lips.

“What do you have?” The mother’s harsh voice cut through the chatter of boys reuniting with their families.

The older girl held the tube out to her mom. “We want to wear it.”

The mom capped the lipstick and tossed it into the trashcan on the end of the bleachers. “That’s yucky.”

“But why?”

“You could get a disease. You can’t share make-up.”

The girls didn’t have make-up yet, only soda and candy flavored chapstick. “Are they in trouble?” The older girl’s brother snickered.

“Mind your own business.” The younger girl pouted.

The brother’s eyebrows scrunched. “Butt out, Anna.”

“Hey! Be nice.” The mom snapped. “No, they’re not in trouble.”

The older girl stuck her tongue out when the mom wasn’t looking. The brother shoved her and Anna. “Don’t be a baby, Anna.”

Anna’s puppy brown eyes grew wide. “I’m not a baby. You’re only a year older than me.”

“So?”

The older girl pinched her brother’s boney arm. “Leave her alone.”

“You’re not mom.” The brother sneered.

She pinched harder. “No, I’m worse.”

The brother rolled his eyes, but he apologized and rejoined the other boys. Anna hugged the older girl, surprising her. “Thank you,” Anna said. The older girl patted Anna’s head; maybe they would be close friends. Like sisters.

Fiction

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