#tuesdayuseitinasentence: What are little girls made of?
I love this.
‘What’s the matter?’
Maisie sat on the back door step, bottom lip out, arms crossed over her chest like a dam holding back the flood.
‘Doesn’t look like nothing,’ said Dad. ‘Budge up.’ He squeezed in beside her, the stone cold on his backside.
Sparrows hopped in the bird table they’d made together last year – a pole with an old tea tray hammered to the top. Maisie had added the important touches such as splodges of lilac paint and glittery star stickers that had peeled off after the first heavy rain. He should have bought some varnish for it, lacquered over the stickers, but being practical never was his thing.
‘Ali doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.’
Maisie and Ali had been friends since nursery, though half of that time seemed to involve them fighting.
‘Well,’ said Dad, ‘I’m sure it’ll blow over.’
Maisie shook her head.
‘You’ve fallen out a lot of times…
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