I can’t believe I’m not scared.
(My brother teases me about all the things I’m afraid of. He laughed when I screamed at the spider in my shoe. He tells tall tales about the creature under my bed, so I can’t sleep. He said I wasn’t brave enough to talk to Ella Whistler.)
It’s dark, and Ella and I are alone together, in the woods. But fear can’t show its face when she walks beside me.
It was her idea to call the owls. We cup our hands around our mouths, whoot-whooting goodnight. They call back, invisible under the moon.