Excerpt: golly sandra

She had a smattering of little brown freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks, and a full smile that looked really adorable even though her teeth were a little crooked. Nothing braces couldn’t fix later on, though. She was wearing a little dress with printed cherries. Her Grandmother doubtlessly had better taste than anyone else’s around here. When my eyes finally focused, I saw she had the most curious of eyes my own plain brown ones had ever seen: clear, sort of olive green with a pale honey brown color around the edges. She was really pretty, even though she had the same baby pudge on her tummy and arms and thighs and cheeks like the rest of us.
She introduced herself as Sandra. “Can I help you make your sand castle?” She asked me. I was astounded. Finally, somebody saw the brilliance of my artwork. Of course, I said yes, and she plunked down in the sandbox without once whining about getting sand in her diaper or anything like that. We got to work. When Sandra made her sand castles, they actually ended up holding the shape of the bucket somewhat.
“It’s ‘cause you have to dig down deeper where the sand is wet,” she explained. I tried her technique, and suddenly my magnificent castle turned into a fuckin’ mansion estate with like, a lawn and trees and gardens and shit.
Sandra and I finished the castle. My teacher came over and told me we were both very creative. Later on when she had to write crap about us on our transcripts and stuff, she wrote things about how creative and hands on I am and about how I made great sand castles and I should look into art careers and architecture. Teachers are oh so very silly.
At the end of the day, Sandra and I went back inside. I guess we weren’t from the same class since somewhere along the way we parted. I know what you’re probably thinking now, that this sounds like the same garbage you always here. Some girl helped me out when I was being bullied and we built a sand castle together and now we’re the best of friends, right? Well, wrong. We didn’t really talk after that.
I mean whatever. I’m sure Sandra’s a bitch, anyway.