People say I’m mature for my age. I wish Natalie could see that.

She looks so beautiful sitting out in the field picking dandelions. Her snooty friend Tara yelled at her once saying she was “killing the flowers.” Natalie with all her grace, politely said, “Silly, silly, they’re weeds. I’m helping!” Tara stuck her pointy nose in the air and walked over to the swing set. Tara wasn’t cute at all.

The slight wind made Natalie’s hair tickle her face. She giggled in response. I knew she was making a dandelion crown, she liked to do that when the sun was shining. My “active imagination,” (at least that’s what my mom calls it) allowed me to picture little fairy wings on her back.

I dreaded the end of recess, Natalie would be going to the resource room for thirty long minutes. I wish the teacher would let me help her with writing. Natalie goes to the resource room a few times a day, but luckily it’s not all day. I think I’d die. She gets picked on a lot, which I don’t understand. She’s the nicest classmate. Her laughter makes the boring lessons seem less boring.

“Wheeeeep! Wheeeeep!” the whistle blew. It was time to go back inside. I took one last look at Natalie. The teacher was helping her get into line. I trudged over to my spot in the line three. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, she’ll see me and wave. Peeking around tall John, I tried to get her attention. She didn’t wave, but she smiled, which is just as nice. When she smiles, I can’t help but think about a little stuffed bear I have. Beary, my teddy bear, has a round face, shiny eyes and a big smile just like her.

“Mason! You need to stay in line,” the teacher said sternly. She must have seen me peak around tall John.

“Sorry Ms. Ellis,” I said.

The class laughed a little, but it happened to at least one student every day. I didn’t really care. Ms. Ellis hardly ever has to scold me anyways. She says I’m a “gifted” student because I work at a higher level. I’m not too sure what the big deal is, but it makes my parents happy too.

Inside we went, to sit at our tables and desks. We’d listen to our teachers tell us about history, math, writing, or whatever was supposed to come next…