Canada
Dear Martin:
I got in trouble yesterday. I thought about all the stories you made up, so I made up one of my own and told it to Herman-the-Pest, and now I have to stay beside my mother for a whole day. I thought it was a good story, but he thought it was scary. The funny part is that he cried again the next night because I wasn't allowed to tell him another one!
"You’re supposed to be my friend, Jas," Mitsu said matter-of-factly, but there was hurt in her voice. "If you’re not going to act like one, I want my bracelet back."
"Fine!" I said. With one sudden movement, I tore the bracelet off my wrist. Too late, I remembered the clasp. The bracelet caught for a moment on the width of my hand, then gave. The red beads flew from the broken string, bouncing with tiny plops over the boardwalk and off into the mud. Mitsu burst into tears, turned and ran.
"Mitsu!" I called. The shock of my own action had stopped the flow of anger with a sudden, sickening bump.
"I’m sorry!" I called after her. But Mitsu was gone.
