Morning light spilled across the kitchen table. Ava pushed a spoonful of cereal toward her mouth, while her homework waited beside the bowl. Then a pink worry popped onto the tabletop. It wiggled once, twice, and began spreading.
The pink worry covered the bowl, the spoon, and every line of homework. “You’re coming too?” Ava asked. The jelly shape answered with a wobbling jiggle. Clink! Her spoon struck the table, and Ava stared at the pink shine crawling over everything.
At school, Ava carried her homework into the classroom. The pink worry squeezed between her and the page, blotting out every word. She tried one letter, then another. Each letter reappeared as a giant, wobbly pink loop until the paper looked like a storm.
Ava looked down at the page, where black letters disappeared beneath pink loops. She thought, “Even my pencil cannot find room.” The worry quivered at the paper’s edge, ready to swell again. Ava pressed her palm over one clean corner and guarded it.
When the teacher asked a question, Ava raised her hand. The pink worry shot upward first and waved wildly above the desk. Ava lowered her hand. On the worksheet, she drew a small box around the worry, pencil scratching: skritch, skritch, skritch.
The box grew bigger and bigger. Ava pushed her pencil around the worry’s wiggling edges until the lines met. “Stay on this page,” she whispered. The pink shape bumped the border, but the border held. For one quiet moment, the worksheet had a corner that belonged to Ava.
At home, the pink worry swelled across the table again. It bumped Ava’s lunch, and the plate slid to the floor with a crash. Ava watched peas roll beneath a chair. Then she reached for a clean sheet of paper and began folding.
Ava folded the paper into a bright pink pocket, pressing each crease flat. She held it open beside her plate. “You can sit here while I eat,” she said. The pink worry tumbled inside with a plop, leaving only two wiggly feet poking out.
Ava finished her meal while the pocket sat beside her. The pink feet wiggled whenever her spoon tapped the bowl. She completed one line of homework, then another. The page stayed visible. The pocket stayed close. Nothing had to disappear.
The next morning, Ava carried the pocket beside her instead of letting it cover everything. In class, she opened her book. The pink worry wiggled against the paper fold. Ava turned one page, then another, and began reading.
The classroom bell rang—BRRING! Ava’s pencil kept moving. The pink worry still wiggled in its pocket, but it no longer covered the page. One word appeared, then another, clear and black beneath her hand.
Ava finished the sentence and left the pocket beside her book. It wiggled once. She turned the page and wrote the next word. Outside, the bell’s echo faded down the hallway, while her pencil made a small, steady sound: scratch, scratch, scratch.
