The Caged Bird Sings Again
DANI
The tiny pencil in my hand almost snaps in half.
I write the note carefully, marveling at how neat my own handwriting is despite how incredibly drunk I’m getting. I try to return the small utensil to Amelie, the pretty, brown-haired waitress who’s given it to me.
But like everything else she’s given me in the last fifty-five minutes, she won’t take it back. She smiles as I attempt to slide it back in her hand across the table in this quaint French cafe. She speaks to me in a delicately beautiful French accent.
“Amelie, I can’t take another thing from you,” I almost slur.
“Actually… yes, you can.” Her voice reminds me of butterfly wings, floating to land on top of a pretty rose. Pretty. Soft. Delicate. Just like her face.
Wait. Did I just compare a com
