NOT QUITE INDIAN SUMMER by Pen of the Damned’s Hunter Shea
“Tag, you’re it!”
“Ow, my mother said no one’s supposed to touch me there!” April rubbed her chest, frowning at Ben.
“Big deal. It’s not like you have boobs or anything.”
Before she could tell him she did so have boobs, Ben ran off, calling her ‘flatso’. He disappeared behind the Mowry’s house.
Probably hiding in their shed, April thought.
“Come on April, you have to start looking for us,” her friend Melody shouted, zipping past her, going across the street into her own backyard.
She smiled, momentarily forgetting the throbbing pain behind her left nipple. “Okay, I’m gonna count to ten!”
Her mother bought her a training bra just last night, right after dinner. It was a special mommy-daughter shopping night at Kohls. They got frozen yogurt afterwards. April wondered if the flimsy thing would have cushioned the blow. It was in her drawer now, waiting…
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