My Cardboard Balcony

She Dreams by Belinda Roddie She dreams, she schemes, she mixes cream and eggs together in a bowl. She whips up whims and age old stories, artificial wins and glories, stuff that every klutzy nothing wants to guzzle down. She doesn't let them savor it. She knows it's all just sugar.

Kerry dangled from one of the rafters, one hand gripping the wood and the other waving as her brother as he stared at her, a hammer swaying limply between his fingers. The barn was almost complete, and there was his thirteen-year-old sister, scaling the ceiling like a monkey and cackling at those workers who were trying to concentrate on sawing and drilling. "She's one hell of a kid, isn't she?" asked her brother's boss, laughing as Kerry propelled herself to another, steadier beam.