chapter three
WILL
His tiny hands pressed the pages of the pure white paper. The contact felt squishy and warm. He laughed and lifted his paint-covered palms. The paper followed the movement.
“Oh,” she said, separating the sheet from his red stained hands. “Uh-oh.” The stained paper fluttered to the ground. They watched its descent.
When the page landed on the floor, he glanced up at her with pride. Her brown eyes scoured every inch of his face and she ran a hand over his jaw.
“Perfect.” She gave her stamp of approval and he beamed.
I pace the tiled floor. My black and white Vans tread steady and slow as I go.
One foot in front of the other
My friends are trying to pretend that they’re not watching me. That they’re not wondering if I’m going crazy, snapping beyond the brink of real
