We will rest upon the ground,
and look at all the bugs we found. Safely walk to school without a sound.
I can tell that we are gonna be friends."
Truthfully, it's not every day that I get my satchel stuck in a tree, but today I came upon the misfortune of passing Pete Benger on the road to school. The middle schooler did his job, and now my bag hangs by the strap from one of the thick branches near the top of the maple. My palms are already bleeding from where I'd tried to climb the thing, only to fall back on my rear. Now I stand under the arching branches, my hands pressed into a towel, since Momma would have my hide if I dirtied my shirt. Then she comes whistling down the dirt road.
I turn and see her, watching as her little blonde pigtails bounce with each step she takes. She's whistling to herself, swinging her lunch pail around her wrist, fast enough that gravity holds the snacks against the metal bottom. I expect her to pass me, but she stops just at my side.
"Joey?" She calls in question to me. For a moment, I wonder how she knows my name, then I remember the teacher having us state them on the first day. How she remembered that over the few weeks between then and now I've no idea.
"What's wrong?" She says, coming closer. I look up at my helpless satchel still stuck in the tree. The girl glances at it before handing me her pail and her own bag. She straightens her overalls, which I'm amazed her parents let her wear to school. Then she grips the forked branches near the bottom and tugs herself into the nook.
"Careful," I call up to her, but in seconds she has plucked my satchel from it's branch and jumped down from the branches.
"Here," she says, holding the bag out to me. I take it and thank her, expecting her to skip off down the road again. But she stays by my side.
"Let's go!" she says cheerily, hooking her arm into mine.
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