Carylee

Carylee is a girl I once know.

She’s sweet, in a unique way, I suppose. I didn’t really speak to her before. I mostly saw her in passing. She always said Hi, I always said it back. My grandma told me it was good manners, saying “hello” to people.

As per usual, Carylee would be in the cafeteria by herself. I wasn’t one of the popular upperclassman, but I had a group of lunch buddies that sat at the same table near the windows. She’d sit a table over.

Today I thought I’d extend an invitation for her to sit with us. I don’t know why, but the feeling came over me. Grandma says I do those type of things because of  my big heart. I didn’t have to introduce us when she came with me to our table, everyone knew her. And she didn’t say much, just ate her lunch – that was good for her. It was good for me too, since I’m the only one who sees her.

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