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The morning sun poured through the window like golden syrup, warm and slow. Sarah blinked against the light, yawning as she stretched under her soft blanket. Today was her first day at the new school.
She sat up, nerves fluttering in her stomach like moths trapped in a glass jar. This wasn't just a school day — this was a chance to rewrite herself. To finally become someone new. Someone bright. Someone enough.
She stood in front of the mirror, biting her lip as she adjusted her shirt for the third time. Then she changed it. Then changed it again.
"Ugh," she mumbled.
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying different styles. Pulled it up. Let it down. Braided. Unbraided. Everything felt almost right, but not quite. She whispered to herself like a quiet spell: You're okay. You're perfect. You're going to be okay.
When she finally came downstairs, her mom was pouring tea and her dad — surprisingly — was putting on his shoes.
"Want a ride?" he asked casually, as if it were something he always offered.
Sarah froze. "Wait… what?"
Her mom smiled. "He means it."
He held the car keys up and jingled them. "Come on. Big day, right?"
Her chest warmed. She nodded quickly, grabbing her bag. "Yeah. Big day."
---
On the Road
The drive was almost an hour long, but it didn't feel that way. For once, there was no awkward silence. No staring out windows pretending to not feel ignored.
Instead, they talked.
He told her stories from his youth — how he almost failed math, how he had to drop out and start over, how scared he had been moving into this new town. He told her he was proud of her for being strong.
She told him about her old school, about how hard it was to be seen. How much she wanted this new beginning to be real.
And he listened.
She looked at his hands on the steering wheel — the tired lines, the calluses. There was a tenderness there she hadn't noticed in years.
Maybe he was trying.
Maybe… they all were.
---
🏫 At School
The new school loomed ahead — bright walls, polished floors, strangers everywhere. Sarah's chest tightened.
But when she walked in, something unexpected happened.
Smiles.
Warm ones.
"Hi, are you the new girl?"
"You're in Class B, right?"
"Cool bag!"
Her heart thudded.
In class, the teacher introduced her. "Everyone, this is Sarah. Please make her feel at home."
She scanned the room, expecting the eye rolls. The whispers. The cold looks.
But none came.
Instead, a girl with short red curls waved her over. "Hey! I'm Trish. Wanna sit next to me?"
Sarah blinked. Slowly nodded. "Sure."
---
Trish was loud in a kind way. She talked a lot, moved her hands when she spoke, and smelled like strawberries. She showed Sarah around — the basketball court, the library, the lunchroom where the cookies were always too hard.
They walked together the whole day. And Sarah, for the first time in years, didn't feel like a background character in someone else's story.
She felt seen.
She felt safe.
---
After School
Walking home, she skipped a little. Twirled once. Laughed out loud at nothing. She felt like a girl in a movie.
At home, the house was quiet.
Her parents weren't back yet.
Still buzzing from joy, she changed into comfortable clothes and did the one thing that now felt like instinct.
She walked into the field.
---
At the Scarecrow
The air smelled of earth and old leaves. The sky was fading — soft purples and blues mixing above the field.
Sarah reached the scarecrow and sat beside it again.
She smiled.
"I had the best day," she whispered.
She told it everything. Every moment. Every compliment. Every small kindness. She told it how it felt to be wanted. To be picked. To be liked.
She didn't know why she kept talking to this thing. Maybe because it listened in a way people didn't. No interruptions. No judgment.
Just quiet attention.
Her voice grew softer as the sky darkened. The field seemed to hold its breath.
"…Thank you," she whispered, unsure why.
And then she left.
But as she turned away…
The scarecrow's shadow stretched longer than it should have.
---
🍽️ Evening at Home
Inside, she found her mom at the door, laughing as she shook off her shoes. Sarah was in the kitchen, already slicing onions.
"You're cooking?" her mom asked, surprised.
"I felt like it."
"Well then," her mom said, tying her scarf, "let me help."
And they cooked.
Together.
They stirred and laughed, spilled pepper, danced around each other. For the first time in a long while, it felt like mother and daughter — not two strangers passing in the hallway.
They made too much food. Ate too late. But neither of them cared.
---
Outside, the moon hung high.
And in the center of the field, the scarecrow stood perfectly still…
…except for its head,
which slowly tilted to the side.
And stayed that way
until dawn.
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