Candor didn’t like her name. If it wasn’t the boys spitting on her hair, it was the way every single grown-up would smile and nod at her when she introduced herself, like it was something special, like the name held some sort of power to make her lips speak the truth. Candor patted at her hair with one hand, feeling the sticky tangle of spit and gum Mickey Patterson had left there.
“What else do you do with a candle?” he’d asked.
“It’s Candor,” she’d muttered, “not candle.”
But he wasn’t listening, already halfway across the playground and
laughing with his friends.
Who did this?” Mrs. Barley’s
hands soon joined Candor’s in the mess, plucking at stringy bits of gum with
Candor flinched at the
question. “No one, Mrs. Barley,” she
said softly, feeling Mrs. Barley’s disapproving frown even without seeing
it. “It was an accident.”
Author's Note: Just a snippet today. Does it even count as flash fiction? A little scene that popped into my head. http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com