This is the 79th installment of a 100-day challenge to write a new vignette every morning.
When money was tight, he’d get his lunch money from the local wishing well. His friend offered to just share her lunch with him, but he said no every time. He told her he couldn’t because that wouldn’t be fair to her, but really he couldn’t stand the tuna she brought every day. Tuna. Every day. The smell alone could wilt their textbooks.
Every day, she brought tuna, so every day, he dove headfirst into the fountain. She waited on the cobblestone, holding his ankles.
This system was perfectly fine, he told himself when he arrived at school, dripping. His teachers always gave him nasty looks as he tracked water and mud everywhere. The first few times, they’d demanded answers, but by the end of the first month of school, they said nothing; they just greeted him at the door with a mop and a towel.
Miles Away 