We had to write a story. They were in our group, and they wanted to be princesses. You knew we were birds. Little hummingbirds. Chirp chirp chirp on your neighbors’ trampoline. We bounced. We flew. Is nine years old too old to play pretend? Mrs. D said we had to write a story with the other girls. Them. The girls who dreamed of being beautiful princesses locked in a castle. But we were birds. They took control. Too assertive for young princesses, but still. We kept the real story in our heads. But. The birds needed to be heard. I took your pinky finger, and I squeezed. You screamed. I screamed. The birds finally sang. Mrs. D yelled at us, so everyone could see that we were villains. But on paper, we were princesses.