My Cardboard Balcony

Warm Milk by Belinda Roddie I drew up a bucket from the wishing well, and the water was warm and sweet, like milk with a dollop of honey added in, a sampling of summer in childhood's wet hands.

Pushing aside the fancy plates and cutlery, all gleaming gold under the light of the gaudy chandelier, I found a modest placard sporting my misshapen name, reminding me that I would be sitting in between Mister Wordschmidt and Missus Gallant from upstairs. I was beginning to rethink coming to this dinner party in the first place when I saw Missus Gallant's gorgeous daughter sidle toward the table, her right hand holding up her long purple skirt.