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Weekly Contest #290
With her folded parasol and folded stockings stowed under her knees, Rebekah trailed her fingers on the pond’s autumn surface. She did this when we were young so being on the dock now instead of packing her traveling trunk, well, she did not surprise me. “They’ll send you anyways.” Finishing school may as well have been the moon. “I can’t. I can’t leave this blue sky,” she said. I rolled my eyes. I had to be mean so she’d want to leave. It was the only defense I could think of, on a dime, for both our sakes. The summer flew as fast as those ...
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