Once upon a time, there was a girl who was a little different.
She moved too much.
She spoke too loud.
And she always said the wrong thing.
The other children didn’t mind. They played with her (even if she played a little rough). They talked with her (even if she was a little noisy). And they always had a good laugh when she said the wrong thing (because it usually was a little funny).
But her favorite thing to do with the other children was read stories. She loved the way different worlds and people made her feel. And she loved to share it with her friends.
And they loved her.
And then the girl changed.
Not much.
She still moved too much.
She still spoke too loud.
And she still always said the wrong thing.
The other children didn’t mind as much. They still sat next to her in class (even if her fidgeting was distracting). They still talked to her at lunch (even if she talked more than she ate). And no one said anything when she said the wrong thing (even if it was a little weird).
The girl had more time to herself now. So she filled the time with her books. And if she didn’t have any books, well, she just made up stories in her head. She loved the way creating new ideas made her feel. And she liked to tell her friends.
And they liked her.
And then the girl changed.
Not much.
She still moved too much.
She still spoke too loud.
And she still always said the wrong thing.
Now the other children did mind. They told her she couldn’t play their games (even if she wasn’t trying to hurt anyone). They asked her to stop talking when she opened her mouth (even if she tried her very hardest to stay quiet). And they scolded and shook their heads at her when she said the wrong thing (even if she didn’t know exactly what it was that she had said).
“We don’t want to be around her,” they whispered to each other. “Not if she does those strange things.”
No one ever bothered to ask her why.
The girl still loved her stories. She loved her worlds, and the people she made. Other children liked those people. If she could just be more like those people…
…maybe the other children would love her again.
The girl changed.
Not much.
She still moved too much.
She still spoke too loud.
And she still always said the wrong thing.
But not as often.
She couldn’t mess up if she just disappeared.
The girl in her head came out.
And the girl who made her went in.