Page 1 of As They Are
WREN
Fifteen Years Ago
The worst soundin the whole world was that of a crying four-year-old. Or maybe it was just Ginnie’s cries.
When she fell onto the concrete walkway next to the playground, Mom rushed over and doted on her, checking on every inch of her skin.
The scars on my knees panged. Years ago, she’d told me falling was no big deal.
I was playing chase with Ginnie, even though Mom had just been ordering me to slow down. My half sister had fallen before Mom finished her sentence. I immediately knew I was in trouble.
I’d been getting in trouble the second I’d arrived two weeks ago to stay for summer. Dad was out of state working on a new apartment complex, and it was either I come to stay with Mom or I be in our tiny trailer by myself.
As Ginnie’s cries turned into soft whimpers, I started to think that being by myself would have been better.
“Say you’re sorry,” Mom said as she looked up at me.
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I was about to slow down.”
“You’re way too big to play with her like that.”
“But she wanted to?—”
“I don’t care! You’re the older sister here. Be responsible. She’s fragile.”
Ginnie whimpered once more, burrowing into Mom. My eyes narrowed. She’d bugged me all day, begging me to play with her. She’d suggested chasing and nagged at me until I’d obliged.
I felt bad that she fell, but I hated that I was the bad guy in the situation—the one who should always know better. Was I not allowed to have lapses in judgment? To make mistakes?
Apparently not.
Mom told me I needed to be nice to Ginnie all summer. I was trying my best to, even if I had to fight with the annoyance that she hadeverything.
“Do you want me to go get some Band-Aids?” I asked.
“Go find something else to do. She needs to be away from you.”
“But—”
“Go,” Mom said before turning back to Ginnie.
I bit my tongue and walked away. In the hot summer sun, the only place that was bearable was under the playground.
It was an old wooden structure that had seen better days. Most kids didn’t go on it. I’d heard parents telling their kids to play in the field instead. Underneath it was a touch cooler than out in the sun, and I found a support plank to sit on and stay out of the way until Mom remembered I existed.
I plopped down as my irritation rose.
The plank fell out from under me.
I yelped as I dropped straight onto my back. My head hit the ground, aggravating the building headache in my temples.
Now my shame made my face impossibly hotter. Was I too big for the playground? The summer before my freshman year had given me an unwanted growth spurt. I towered over mostkids my age and a few of my old classmates had whispered about it behind my back, calling me a giraffe, or whatever other animal they could compare me to.
“You better not be getting in trouble over there!” Mom called.
“I—”
“I don’t wanna hear it, Wren!”
