June 2nd
I make sure I'm at the awards ceremony. I take all my medication and drag myself into the car so mom can drive me to City Hall. She doesn't want me to go, but I have to and I tell her I will drive myself there in my half-drugged, half-sick state if she won't. That wins her over.
She doesn't want me to die any sooner than I already will.
The ceremony is in the foyer of City Hall with a little podium set up halfway back and a crowd of maybe thirty people surrounding it.
Birdie isn't hard to spot. She's in the middle of the crowd, hands behind her back, rocking back and forth on her toes in anticipation.
"Hi Birdie," I say, coming behind her and touching her elbow.
"Ren!" she says, her eyebrows arching. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again!"
"I couldn't miss this opportunity," I say, keeping my grin casual.
"What?" she asks, willing to joke. "To watch me win?"
"We'll see, won't we?" I respond and stand close to her throughout the entire hour long ceremony, our shoulders brushing.
YOU ARE READING
little, little birdie
Teen FictionA story about a lonely girl and a boy that can't write poetry.
