Last Light Falling Read Free Page B

find it cumbersome to pose like a statuette for others, restraining myself from getting dirty, or, God forbid, sitting with my legs uncrossed.
    One time, when I was eight, I was invited to Shelly Baskins’s birthday party. I was among girls whose social status was indicative of their behavior. They all seemed so comfortable in their lavishly extravagant dresses, while I awkwardly wore my homemade attire.
    Before opening presents, we all gathered outside, where the backyard resembled more of an enchanted forest than your typical half-maintained lawn. I had to restrain myself from naturally wanting to squat and pee behind a bush like I did when I was out hunting. Now, I normally use indoor plumbing when convenient, but when I’m in the woods, nothing feels quite as natural as relieving yourself among nature. I restrained myself from doing that, of course, for the courtesy of others.
    Shelly Baskins—I really hated that girl. Okay, hate is a strong word, but I badly wanted to spit in her food, if not on her smug face. She was the rich girl at my school who would undoubtedly let you know it. If you weren’t part of her circle of friends, you were teased, taunted, and ridiculed unmercifully. I was invited only because my mother and Shelly’s mom knew each other, and Shelly had a crush on Gabe, but I know it tore her up inside to have to invite me just to see Gabe. Really, eight years old and having a crush on a boy. I thought boys were disgusting at that age. What made her so special?
    This was the same person who purposefully spilled grape juice on my white blouse at the Christmas pageant, the one who slowly dripped candle wax in my hair, leaving it virtually unmanageable for a week.Oh, I absolutely detested Shelly, with her insufferable childish pranks, but I felt sorry for her at the same time. Six months later, her mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. As angry as I was about her menacing hatred toward me, seeing her cry uncontrollably at school over her mother’s fate changed my heart for her. I knew what it was like to have someone very dear to you become ill and helpless. In that instant, I forgave her for all that she had done to me. After that day, we never spoke again.
    I’m usually fishing, hunting, practicing martial arts, or playing sports while other girls worship their nails with fancy polish, or prancing around like Disney princesses until someone notices them. I try hard to hide my figure, not flaunt it in a constricted dress.
    I may be a little rough around the edges, but I’m not oblivious to the fact that I’m still a girl. In fact, I’ve unfortunately developed physically much faster than the other girls my age. Some call it a blessing, while I see it as a curse. I don’t need boys gawking at me for approval, nor do I see them as equals, intellectually speaking, of course.
    I don’t hate guys—in fact, if the right one does exist, I’ll snatch him up in a heartbeat. I just don’t see the need to drool over knuckle-dragging Neanderthals who want to pry into more than just my thoughts. My body is sacred, and it should be treated as so. I’m not at all afraid of guys; I can handle them just fine. It’s the catty girls I detest, and they don’t seem to mind teasing you and giving you a complex until you develop an eating disorder. Girls can be absolutely cruel to one another. I can only imagine what my brother must have gone through with his personal bullies.
    My brother is frail and meek. He is the kind of person who will help you out when you least expect it and never expect anything in return. When he is being picked on, he retracts quickly and recoils with kindness out of defense. He’s a bit delusional about his peers. He tries hard to see the good in them and somehow change their ill will toward him without dispute. Even though I agree with him, it doesn’t come as natural to me. I guess people like him and Grace are badly needed in this world if it’s to survive.
    He is one of the