Sheikha skips down the green hallway. Her dress swings side to side. SQUEAK, SQUEAK go her shoes on the tile.
Two heads pop up from behind a green pillar. Metha whispers, 'Look at Sheikha! She is so funny!' The word bounces off the walls.
Afra covers her mouth. Then she bursts out: 'Hahaha! Nobody likes you!' Sheikha's feet freeze mid-step. The squeak cuts off.
The green floor stretches wide and quiet between them. Sheikha's fingers twist in her sleeve. She thought: I wish I could disappear.
Sheikha turns to walk away. Her long hem catches on a tile edge. She wobbles — arms out, tips sideways.
Plop. A soft thud on the green floor. Cool tile presses against her palms. Metha and Afra giggle again.
Sheikha blinks. She grips the tile edge and hauls herself up.
Sheikha stands tall. She smooths her dress and walks straight to Afra. She holds out a round orange. 'For you,' she says.
Afra's laugh sticks in her throat. The green hallway goes very quiet. Afra stares at the orange in her hands.
Sheikha skips back down the hallway, humming. SQUEAK, SQUEAK. She pats the smooth green wall. A flash of orange on green vanishes around the corner.
