Read Flowers in the Snow for Free Online

she’d done had traveled around town, Beatrice had been called names, had gum was stuck in her hair, and had been ignored by anyone who wasn’t harassing her. The teachers wouldn’t call on her even when her hand was the first one to go up to answer a question. The only two things she experienced now were teasing and feeling invisible; she couldn’t sort out which one hurt more.
    With her head down and her heart aching, she muddled through the school days then dragged herself through her front door every evening, knowing it wouldn’t be much better. Her parents weren’t calling her names and they weren’t completely ignoring her, but disappointment was constantly painted on their faces.
    Her stomach ached most of the time and food tasted like sawdust in her mouth. She’d always been lanky, but now she was getting bony. Most days she did everything she could to find a place to be alone after school. Today she decided to take the long way home. The very long way.
    Cutting through the woods behind the Dorit’s farm, she weaved her way to the brook and followed it north toward her house. She turned left after she saw the old cemetery she used to avoid at all costs. Suddenly the dead didn’t seem quite as scary as the living. A bunch of old headstones couldn’t call her names or spit in her food.
    After walking for what felt like an hour, she heard the unmistakable sound of a twig cracking beneath someone’s foot. She dropped low, squatting and slowing her breathing as she tried to find the source of the noise. Had one of those jerks from school spotted her heading into the woods and followed her so they could tease her again for her mistake? Would they pour soda on her and tell her to give it to her colored friends? Didn’t they know she didn’t have colored friends? She’d barely known a single one of them her whole life, but now the way people were acting you’d think she was out jumping rope and having cookies with them every day.
    When she heard nothing for a minute she thought of standing, but something told her to stay put. Something in her gut just kept saying, Not yet. Don’t move yet. It’s not time. Then she heard it: a scream followed by a body bolting by her. It was a black girl moving so quickly she wasn’t paying attention to branches that were slapping her across the face. The girl’s foot caught on a log and she dropped to the ground with a thud that told Beatrice she’d likely had the wind knocked out of her. Chasing behind her was a familiar face. Simpson had his baseball bat slung over his shoulder as he closed the gap between him and the fallen girl. Beatrice could recognize him from a mile away. He had abnormally large brown eyes and his hair did this spikey, untamed thing, making him look far more interesting than he was.
    “Stop,” Beatrice shouted, tossing herself between them before Simpson could reach the girl. His body slammed into hers, and they both toppled to the ground.
    “What the hell are you doing out here, Beatrice?” Simpson barked, jumping to his feet and brushing the dirt off his tattered hand-me-down pants.
    “I’m walking home,” she explained, turning toward the little girl and extending her hand to help her up. “Are you hurt?” she asked, looking the girl over once she was on her feet. She had her black hair parted in three different spots and pulled back into tight braids punctuated at the bottom with pink plastic clips. When she spoke Beatrice saw her smile had multiple holes where her baby teeth had fallen out. Her dress, which was now soiled, had matched the clips perfectly. It was trimmed with lace at the sleeves and hem, and Beatrice could tell it had been made with great care. Her round plump lips, framed perfectly by even plumper cheeks, were quivering with fear. Beatrice had never seen such pretty eyes before. They were rich and shiny like molasses and shimmered beneath the tears gathering in them. They seemed bottomless, and it made Beatrice want to