p r o l o g u e
“WHO are you?”
Funny how five-year-olds can be, don’t you think?
She stared him down, eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out who was this boy, with yellow hair and bright blue eyes, eyeing her with uncertainty.
She fingered her dress nervously.
“My name is Cam,” she quietly answered, still keeping her distance from him.
“Can you play soccer? Mara says girls can play soccer, better than boys. I don’t believe her,” he said, unperturbed.
“Yeah,” she stood a little bit taller. “I can. I’m pretty good at it too. Who’s Mara?”
“My sister. She’s annoying. Can people your skin color play too?”
“I don’t see why not. What color is you blood?”
“Red, I think. The last time I fell, it went all over my shorts. So red, I think.”
She exhaled in relief.
“Mine’s red too! Let’s play. Race you to the goal,” she said, easily seizing the ball from him, and running.
“Hey!”
Maybe no one is born hateful, after all.
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