The Little Girl with Too Braids

Once Upon a Time…

There was a Little Girl with Too Braids

She liked a lot of things

She liked to play on the swings

Pumping her legs, going hire and hire

And she liked numbers

She liked being the best at numbers.

And you would think, with being the best at numbers

She would be the best at words, too.

But faster than you can add fifteen to itself

She'll tell u

‘No.’

‘I don't like words’

‘I don't like to rite!’

She would put her hands on her hips

And explain,

That words wear the monsters in her mind

That they would get all mixed up

Like a song

With the wrong tune

And that she couldn't use them

Ever

And that was that.

Two say that she had a reputation

Was an understatement

A reputation for trouble

Maybe that reputation was 

What got her into this mess

Inn the first place

Won day

Someone gave her a chance

A chance to grow up

Learn more

A chance to go to a knew

Better

School

All she had to do

Was

Rite

Once

And she did

Abhorrently

She hated every moment of it

She hated the crunch of her fingers

As her knuckles cramped

She hated the words

Flying around

In her head

Like the butterflies were fluttering

In her mind

Instead of her stomach

But she scratched the pencil into the paper, anyway

Hating the words: 

Once Upon a Time

Her hands turned clammy as she picked up the pencil. The rubber eraser on the end was sketchy, little veins of black etched across her notebook paper. Only four words were written at the top. Once Upon a Time. Tears were pricking at her eyes, like they always did when she tried to write. 

"Ten more minutes!" The proctor called out. The Little Girl with Too Braids hugged her knees to her chest, felt the floodgates pound at her eyes, begging to pour out. But she couldn't cry. Not now. Not when she was so close. So the Little Girl with Too Braids used the sleeve of her sweater to wipe at her red eyes and clutched the pencil with her fist, etching her watery story into the page, even though she knew it would probably fail her. At that moment, the girl swore two things. She'd pass the test. And then she would hate writing. Forever. Because it was hard. Because it hated her. And because without it, she would've passed.

The Little Girl with Too Braids failed

She didn't fail badly

She wasn't the only won to fail

But she failed.

And it was humiliating.

'I WANT A CHANCE!'

She screamed.

'I'LL DO ANYTHING!'

Maybe they would've just brushed her off

She was just a little girl, after all.

But there was enough draw,

Enough interest,

Enough spirit,

That they looked into it.

"We've checked." They said with a grin, "We checked your records." The Little Girl with Too Braids clasped her hands, squeezing her Mommy, praying.

"And?" 

"And you're in." They exclaimed, with big smiles. The Little Girl with Too Braids pumped her fists in the air and squealed. Yes. "As long as you can improve in your lacking areas." Her smile dropped to the floor.

Darn it.

She thought about her usual tricks

To skip writing

Would they work this time?

At this knew school?

Only won way to find out

She put her hands together

And pasted on a sly smile

"Okay. I'll do it."

The knew teacher

Commanded respect

Her face was prim

But kind

She smelled of lavender oil

And graded assignments

Most of all, though

She was the kind of teacher who would

Never

Miss 

A 

Beat

Even her name was demanding

Za-pot-ticky

Like lightning against her tongue

Leaving a sweet-but-sour taste

Like the perfect tangerine

It was the very first word

The Little Girl with Too Braids

Liked.

"Okay, class. We're going to start today by writing an essay." The Little Girl with Too Braids waited for a collective groan to come from her class. Or at least a frown. But nothing happened.

The entire class

Was made of

Writers

And readers

They weren't afraid

They could do it,

But she couldn't

"Just tell me what you want from me, the teacher, this year." The Little Girl with Too Braids slouched in her seat, the screws of her chair knotting her hair painfully. 

"Excuse me." She raised her hand. "May I use the restroom?" The entire class watched her with an expression that had to be disgust. The teacher took off her glasses so she could see her glare.

"Only after you finish your piece." With a groan, she started writing. The teacher watched her closely, watched her struggle, without offering any help. The Little Girl with Too Braids gulped, frustrated. Did the teacher know? How bad she was at writing? There was a cough in the back of the classroom. Someone dropped their pencil. Were they all watching her? Or were these generic classroom noises? The teacher was still watching her closely, gesturing at her mostly-blank page. With no idea what else to do, the Little Girl with Too Braids glared back. 

The teacher was flustered,

Shocked

With her audacity.

But she didn't mind.

She had been looking for a crazy kid

To teach

The Little Girl with Too Braids tried

As hard as she could

But

Naturally

Her paper looked like a white shirt

Put into the washing

With a block of lead.

The words were impossible to read,

And what you could gather,

Sounded like a language

That couldn't bee English.

"Have a good weekend, everyone!" The teacher called, before pointing a finger at The Little Girl with Too Braids. "Can I have a word?" The Little Girl with Too Braids gulped. Uh oh. The entire class froze.

"Okay," She dropped her backpack onto the ground. The teacher nodded at everyone else to continue packing up.

"It has come to my attention that you're… how do I say this… slacking a bit in the writing department. If today's assignment had been graded, you would've undoubtedly failed." The Little Girl with Too Braids tensed. Failing was not acceptable. Failing meant her parents would make her work. Make her write. Failing meant the end of her.

"I guessed that." She admitted. Her lips were trembling. "Please don't fail me." The Little Girl with Too Braids felt a lump grow in her throat, her feelings pounding at her eyes, like water behind a dam. 

"Fail you?" The teacher raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm going to try to help you." The teacher smiled, just a little bit, noticing the fall in her student's eyes. "I promise, by the end of the year, you'll love to write." The Little Girl with Too Braids remembered her own promise. To forever hate writing.

"I doubt it." She muttered under her breath, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, turning to leave.

At the edge of the door

She met her whole class

They had been watching through the window

Slit into the wall

Pretending that they had been getting their bags

The Little Girl with Too Braids

Scoffed.

Meanies. 

She was about to storm away

When won of the kids

Caught her eye

She stopped in her tracks

Dazzled

He wasn't necessarily

The most attractive

And she knew

That he had a reputation

For having

A temper.

But,

She couldn't help staring

At him

His hair

Was all over the place

Like sticks gathered together

Waiting to start a campfire

He hadn't been gossiping

Like the other kids

He had been watching her

Sadly

As if to say

Sorry this is happening to you.

Her heart

Skipped a beat

As she rushed 

Home

With a pack of prompts

In tow

"I'm going to ride my bike." She said to her mother, eagerly. But Mommy shook her head.

"No, your teacher gave you writing prompts. Do them, please." Mommy insisted, slipping notebook paper towards her. She groaned.

"Fine." She took the pages and finished them as fast as she could. When she was done, her eyes were red and puffy. They always looked like that when she wrote.

The next day

The Little Girl with Too Braids

Took her mixed-up stories

To her teacher

The teacher was quiet for a few moments

As she glanced over the papers

The whole class fell 

Silent

As they waited to hear the verdict

"No, no! Here." The teacher scolded, sliding her a book. "If you're going to learn how to write, you have to read. You don't read much, do you?" She gave The Little Girl with 'Too' Braids a knowing look.

"Um." She was about to say of course I read! Who doesn't? But was that true? She thought a little bit. What was the last book she read? Her face turned pink as she realized it was one of those kiddy books, with only fifteen words on every page. "Yeah, I'm not much of a reader."

"We're going to change that." The teacher assured.

The Little Girl with Too Braids sighed

And agreed

To read

more.

The first class novel

Or maybe second

(She didn't do a good job of reading the first)

Was

'The Mixed Up Files of Ms. Basil E Frankweiler.'

It was hard at first

The words were big and long

Like a cobra

Out to kill her

But then she saw the patterns

The way they came together

The way they made a picture in her mind

Action

Drama

Wanting

An Angel statue 

The way

Claudia

Wanted more

Than the world had to offer

The ending 

Was a plot twist

The Little Girl with Too Braids

never expected

She never expected 

That writing could do that

That writing could make her feel like that

Make her feel so important

So worthy. 

"So, what did you think?" Her teacher asked. The Little Girl with Too Braids clasped her hands, rubbed her temples, thinking about what to say. Were there any words? And then it all clicked into place.

"I think… I want to learn how to write. How to write better." She explained. Her teacher cracked a grin.

"Great!"

The Little Girl with Too Braids

Was different now

Her hands didn't cramp up

When they touched the pencil

Her eyes didn't grow puffy

When the going got tough

"You've done enough writing for today," Mommy said, staring out at the window, watching the other kids kick a playground ball around. The Little Girl with Too Braids sighed.

"This is for a project, Mommy. We're presenting tomorrow." She looked out into the distance. "I hope I finish. I hope it's good."

And

She finished it

The words were a little tangled

Strained, like they were struggling to be free

But it was better

So much better

In class

She was so giddy

That she didn't even wait

For the teacher to call her name

She bounded up to the front of the room

In her new dress

With her freshly oiled braids

And chipmunk-style grin

And

Started

To

Read

She had written about 

'The Mixed Up Files of Ms. Basil E Frankweiler'

About how she loved it

How Ms. Frankweiler

Could've been hiding something

Something more.

She gestured her hand

To the right

Then to the left

Like she had seen adults do

Then with an extravagant bow

She placed her writing on the table

And plopped back into her seat

"You all did pretty well." The teacher said, as she laid the graded assignments on desks. Everyone was watching as The Little Girl with Too Braids got her grade. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, slowly turning the paper over. In sloppy red were the words: B-, good job, I'm proud of you! We have another assignment coming up. Use the critiques I wrote to improve.

The other kids

Could see the grade

And they snickered behind their hands

But it didn't matter

She had passed

She had gotten a good job

And she had one more chance to redeem herself.

"Our next topic is going to be poetry." The teacher said, handing out papers. "Today's assignment is small. Get into groups of two. One person will be the poet, the other will be the artist." The Little Girl with Too Braids knew exactly who to run to. Her best friend. Another girl, a pretty girl, who had a flair unmatched by any. But she wasn't just extravagant. She was kind. She was helpful. And she cared more than anyone else.

The Little Girl with Too Braids

Was scared

Of poetry

So she told her Pretty friend

To write

But the teacher heard her

Talking

"No, I want you to write." The teacher said, pointing at the Little Girl with Too Braids.

"Are you sure?" She asked, biting her nails. The teacher nodded.

"Yep. Just get creative."

Her Pretty Friend

Winked

So creative

Is what she did

The Little Girl with Too Braids

Straightened her back

And let the pencil touch the paper

Feeling the magic pulse through her hands

And when she was done

She read it to her class

Let the words flow out of her mouth

Like bees

Delicate

But powerful

So powerful.

"Class, give-" The teacher didn't have to say it. She didn't even have to utter a single word. The class stood up from their seats and put their hands together.

Because they had felt the magic, too

All of them

Except one

"Hey," The boy with fiery hair, the one that made her cheeks warm, poked at her elbow. She instantly felt her face grow pink, an urge to curl her hair around her finger, but she ignored it all and looked at him with big eyes.

"Yeah?"

"They're talking. About you." He said. His face was serious, solid like stone, as he took her arm and led her towards the table.

"I bet she's going to need summer school!" One boy called out. His hair was brown, like dead branches. The rest of the class was standing around him. Watching. Laughing. The Little Girl with Too Braids felt her throat grow clammy as the words weighed her down, but she waited for a quirky comeback to come to her. It did. If there was anything she was good at, it was quirky comebacks.

"Well, I hope you didn't bet much." Was all she could croak out, before turning away. The words hurt too much. Words could hurt.

But words could also heal

The boy with the fiery hair

Looked like he was about to bubble over

Lose it

Until the Little Girl with Too Braids put a hand on his shoulder

And shook her head

'It's not worth it.'

He unclenched his fist

'I'm sorry that they're that way.'

'I know.'

So she sat down and kept writing out her big poem. 

"I'm going to need another paper!" She called out, loud enough for the whole class to hear. They all looked down at their own pages, only half full with words, dumbfounded, as she sashayed across the room to staple a green-tinged page onto her assignement. A few jaws dropped. Including the jaw of the Branch-Brown boy.

She went home that day

Feeling mellow

Bittersweet

Like maybe, even if she was hated by some people

Like Branch-Brown boy

But the Pretty Girl

And the boy with fiery hair

Wouldn't hate her.

But fate was cruel,

Too cruel

To her.

"We're moving?!" She screamed, putting her hands over her ears like it could change it. Like it could change reality. Her parents gently approached her.

"It's alright, Texas is a great place to live. You'll like it." They assured, patting her hand, but there was no more assuring. Nothing could comfort her. 

She would be alone

Alone again.

 Without the Pretty Girl.

Or the Fiery haired-kid.

 Or even Branch-Brown-boy. 

She would be all alone. 

So she did the one thing 

That could suck out all the

Loneliness

She got out a page

And wrote

She wrote like Claudia

Who was yearning for more

She wrote like the characters

In the books

That lined her room

That made her laugh

Under her breath

After years of never reading

She had

A room

Full of books

She could picture it

Reading out to her class

Once Upon a time…

There was a Little Girl with Too Braids

"What are you doing?" The Little Girl with Too Braids asked her mother on the day of the poetry presentation, as her hair was being combed. Instead of parting it down the middle, her Mommy brought it all together into her hand, before snapping a rubber band on.

"A ponytail." Her mother explained. "You're old enough."

The Little Girl with Too Braids gulped

She was now The Big Girl with One Ponytail.

In front of her class

She trembled

Watching all the kids watch her

'Nice hair-do!' 

The Pretty Girl had said.

'Good luck!'

The Now-Big Girl with One Ponytail

Cleared her throat

And began.

Knowing no matter what

Even if she moved

She'd always remember

This

Moment.

…

(3 years later)

The Even Bigger Girl with One Ponytail

Now felt lonely

There was a cotton mask

Covering her face

Terror

pulsed through her veins

Her skin was sticky 

From the Texas heat

She thought about

What she did

As a little girl

When she was scared

And of course

The first thing she thought

Was to write

To put the shyness

Of Auggie 

The excitement

Of Zippy 

The yearning

Of Claudia 

All into one story

So she ripped off the mask

Opened her computer 

And hit the keyboard

Remembering the Pretty Girl

The Boy with The Fiery hair

Her teacher

Her friends

Words popped up on her screen

The Little Girl with 'Too' Braids

By Karma P

Yep

That Little Girl

Was

Me

So I hit the keys, typing out the first words:

Once Upon a Time…

There was a Little Girl with Too Braids