The swore it. Children shouldn't

swear at all.

But a simple friendship wasn't

satisfying. They needed a false

sisterhood.

And a manifestation of it. They worked

an entire summer on the tree

house.

It would go in the tree in her

grandparents' yard. The one that

had the flowers like powdered

sugar surronding the winding

branches.

They calloused their small hands every

day until the face of the moon a

white fire drove them inside.

Only a few years later they passed each

other in a crowded hall with

nothing more than an awkward

glance between them.