When I was in kindergarten, first grade, and second and third, there
was one girl that I hated more than anyone else. Her name was Hannah,
and I remember that because she would make a big deal out of the fact
that it was the same backwards and forwards. She was the biggest
know-it-all you could ever imagine. She would spell the word
“exasperation” at you until you obeyed her command. She was
snotty and unkind, and she never had any time for me.
One Friday out of every single month, our school would sell crowns
made of star garland, with curled ribbon hanging from the back. I
wanted one of these more than anything, but they cost one WHOLE
dollar, and my mother refused to give me the money, on the grounds
that I wouldn't know what to do with it once I got it home.
Now Hannah got one of these crowns every time they were sold, and I
would watch her with extreme jealousy as she walked down to the
buses, her golden curls bouncing and mingling with the different
colored ribbons. I wanted so much just to BE her, to spell with
confidence, to know everything, to wear the beautiful star halo, and
to have those luscious curls to mix with the ribbons trailing from
the back.
One day I found a discarded star crown on the ground, and I carried
it home, keeping it safe in my room. It was my little secret from the
world, this small peace of Hannah that I got to copy and have for my
self. A while into third grade, or maybe it was fourth, Hannah moved
away, and I became the smartest person in class. I didn't have the
curls, or the money for a star halo every month, but I still found
myself with a joy that was all my own. I don't remember what happened
to that star crown that I stowed away, but I wish I could wear it
every single day.
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