The girl placed four tiny orange fruits into her sister’s hand.
“Here, Rebecca, look at what I found
on the trees by the big white fence!
I tasted one already.
They’re so soft and so deliciously tart.”
Rebecca looked at the small, smooth orange fruits.
She took an experimental bite of one of them.
The fruit tasted like nothing
she had ever tasted before;
it was soft as a cake
and as sweet as a candy,
but there was the slightest hint of bitterness
reminiscent of an unripe apple.
“What is it called?” she asked her sister.
“If you found them by the big white fence
how do you know that they don’t belong
to the people who live on the other side
of the big white fence?”
“Because it was on our side of the fence,”
her sister assured her.
“Then they’re ours,” said Rebecca.
Her sister sat beside her
and they ate the strange, small fruits together.
The juices dribbled down their chins
and they giggled.
“Rosalind is a dribbleface,” Rebecca chanted tauntingly.
“So are you!” Rosalind shot back.
They were always laughing.