May 24th
“I went to the library to find you,” I say, sliding onto the bench next to Birdie. She doesn’t look surprised to see me this time.
If anyone is surprised, it’s me.
“Wrong place,” Birdie says with a small smile. She has a textbook open in front of her, though her dedication to the words on the page doesn’t seem to be as intense as usual.
“I know!” I gush, wiping away a fake tear. “I’m so proud, you're in the caf and everything!”
Birdie looks around, probably making sure no one heard my outburst.
“I'm still alone though, or haven't you noticed?” she asks, her tone cutting. I see the hurt in her expression, and the accusatory glance makes me hurt too.
“No you're not,” I say, scooting closer and nudging her in the ribs. “I’m here now.”
YOU ARE READING
little, little birdie
Teen FictionA story about a lonely girl and a boy that can't write poetry.
