At school, someone ran faster.
Someone read louder.
Someone finished first.
Scarlett felt small.
“I’m not as good,” she said quietly.
Lenny tilted his head.
Pudding wagged as if to say — since when was this a race?
Scarlett looked at her own shoes.
They were hers.
Her steps were hers.
She wasn’t behind.
She was herself.
🫶