It’s dark. The fire crackles. She can smell the smoke. The heat is transforming its pristine white exterior into something brown and slightly charred. Flames rise and fall. She knows it can only last a few more minutes in the fire. Someone nudges her arm and hands her a graham cracker. Quite possibly, this is one of the best days of her life.
“NO! They’re mine!”
Alice was yelling again. The art therapist in charge of the after-school art program winced, but was unsurprised. Another student had asked Alice for a piece of blue paper (earlier, she had taken them from all the other tables) and as usual, she refused to share.