June 12th
"There's another poetry contest. It's six months away. Plenty of time for me to get some new material. You in?" I ask Birdie.
Her head is against my shoulder, strands of her hair tickling my chin.
"What's the stakes?"
"More coffee?"
She shifts and tilts her head to stare at me.
"Did I mention I was thinking of retiring?" she kids.
"Fine." I know I have to step up my game. "How about dinner?
She's quiet for a second.
"Promise you'll make it?"
Because death is always hovering and she's afraid I might lose my wings.
"I promise, Birdie, that I will make it and this time I'll win." I kiss the top of her head.
"I'm in."
YOU ARE READING
little, little birdie
Teen FictionA story about a lonely girl and a boy that can't write poetry.
