The meadow stretches wide and sunlit past the edge of the big notebook page. Tall grass sways. Daisies dot the ground. Beyond the ruled lines, the world is soft and green.
Scribble and Tally kick off the page edge and tumble head-over-toe into the tall grass. Their thin legs hit the dirt with a soft thud. The notebook crinkles behind them.
"Ready!" Tally yells, already spinning into a wide arc. Her thin legs sweep the dirt in a whooshing circle. She comes up on the other side, grinning.
Whoosh! Swipe! Spin! They trade leaping kicks and corkscrews — faster, higher, bigger every round. The grass parts around their thin limbs. The air whistles.
Scribble's last spin sends a whole cloud of clover leaves WOOOOSH-ing outward. Tally barely dodges. Leaves swirl past her face like a green storm.
"No—wait, that was YOUR turn!" Tally shrieks, still ducking leaves. Scribble lands flat, thin arms splayed, blinking at the spinning green around him.
Scribble winds up for the biggest spin yet. CRASH. He lands flat in a patch of daisies. The stems press down. He tugs. The flowers hold.
He wiggles. He tugs. His thin elbows push against the stems, but the daisies just press back, soft and firm. He is stuck.
Tally crouches. She wraps her two thin arms under his elbows and LIFTS — up, up, up. His legs dangle in the air. He scoots free from the daisies.
Scribble sits in the soft dirt, blinking. Above him, daisy petals drift on the breeze like tiny white snowflakes. He tilts his head back and watches them fall.
They stand face to face, daisy petals stuck in their hair, and start to giggle. The giggles turn into slow, silly spins.
Side by side, thin arms bumping, whooshing together. The meadow swallows them whole. The notebook page lies quiet behind.
