The summer before eighth grade, Abby and I had been playing pretend fairies outside for the past week, fluttering and skipping in the humidity of the woods. I liked the idea of fantastical things — fairies, dragons, wizards, vampires, and the rest of them — but Abby seemed to believe it. She came to me with love spells, and we performed them with our whole hearts. She smeared us with red clay so we would live forever, and when she told me not to go into the woods alone because of preying beasts, she didn't stammer or flinch.Our schoolmates made fun of us for playing like little kids when we were officially teenagers, but as long as we had each other, we didn't mind their teasing.Moody Pond was our favorite spot to play pretend. Something about it was magical; the way the water ripples under skater bugs, the maple seedlings that twirl on the breeze, and the reeds that curve like bridges for real fairies. Abby's house was next door, and her mother let us wander out without a mere peek
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