That would have been far from ideal. I fell silent yet again, and the girl took my hand and pulled me to my feet.
“H-Hey!” I protested.
“Look, I dunno what you’re all hung up about,” she said, “but sitting around like a lump won’t help! You should exercise, so you don’t have time to think about stuff! Which is to say...you’re ‘it’!”
“Huh?!”
“Everyone run!”
The girl yelled at me to count to ten, then sprinted away.
“Hey!” I protested again, though no one paid it any mind. I heard her yell at me from afar, once again telling me to count to ten, and so I grudgingly began to do that.
I knew this game—“tag,” they called it. All I had to do was touch someone. I caught up to another child and lightly poked them with my fingertip, but they just looked at me like I’d grown two heads.
The girl, who was standing nearby, laughed loudly. “Have you never played tag before? You need to touch people like this!” she said, and slapped my back with gusto.
“You have to put that much strength into it...?” I asked.
“Yep! Now do it! Tag someone!”
I followed her instructions and tagged the child who had been standing there watching our exchange in befuddlement.
“Now you say ‘you’re it!’ and you run!”
“O-Okay. You’re it,” I said, before running away like she’d said. I heard the girl chuckle behind me, and I couldn’t help cracking a genuine smile—my first in a long, long time.
After a few games, the girl showed me a slide and taught me how to play. “Hey! Watch me, okay?” she shouted down from the top of the slide.
“Okay,” I replied.
She nodded then cheerfully exclaimed, “Here I go!”
The girl glided down the slide with incredible ease. I was impressed. She drew closer and closer—
Wait.
“Eek!” she yelped. “Move, move!”
Too late.
The girl crashed straight into me at the end of the slide, and we both came tumbling down. Thankfully, the sandbox was below, but it still hurt. Also, she was sitting on top of me, and felt quite heavy.
“Get off...” I began, but before I could say “me,” my voice died in my throat.
Her skirt had flipped.
I saw it.
A bear.
“Oww...” she whined, snapping me back to reality.
“Uh, are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry,” she mumbled—and finally noticed the compromising position she was in. Her face turned beet red, which was quite amusing to watch.
What came next was significantly less amusing.
“S-Stupid!” she yelled, slapping me in the face with a painful smack.
✦ ✦ ✦
A damp, cool handkerchief was placed on my swollen, red cheek.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” the girl said, looking like she was about to cry.
“It’s fine,” I assured her. It just stung a bit.
“Of all the days to wear a skirt,” she grumbled. According to her, she seldom wore skirts, so she’d completely forgotten about what she was wearing. I made a mental note to myself that she usually wore pants.
“Mama always says I should only ever show my underwear to the man I’m gonna marry,” she murmured, her eyes glistening with tears. “Now I can’t get married anymore...”
“It was an accident. These things happen.”
“Okay...” she said, though her eyes were still misty.
“Say...” I began.
“Huh?”
“I’ll just marry you myself, then,” I said in earnest.
She stared blankly at me for a moment before chuckling and wiping at the corners of her eyes. “Thanks!”
Her smile made my heart flutter. I averted my gaze.
“That was fun!” she exclaimed cheerfully.
It was already evening, so she probably knew I had to go. “U-Um,” I began, looking down and feeling oddly anxious.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Thanks for today,” I said softly. “I feel better.”
She beamed at me. “You’re welcome!”
“Uhm,” I mumbled. She looked adorable, and my cheeks flushed.
“Hmm?”
“Do you...like anyone...?”
“Like anyone?” she echoed, pondering for a moment before suddenly looking up. “A prince!”
“A prince?”
“Yeah! Like, from a story! They’re so cool! They’re rich and live in huge castles, and they’re handsome! So if I was gonna marry, I’d want it to be to a prince!”
My cheerful mood took a nosedive.
“There’s no way you can marry a prince,” I told her.
“I totally can!” she protested, puffing up her cheeks. “One’s totally gonna come for me!”
“No way. A prince would never choose a commoner.”
“They marry village girls in the stories!”
“It cannot happen!”
“Yes it can!”
“It can’t!”
“It can!”
We went on arguing for a while until we were both out of breath, glaring at one another.
I broke eye contact first and said, “I’ll come for you.”
“What?” she asked, tilting her head in confusion at my bold declaration.
“I’m not a prince, but I’ll be close to one,” I told her. “Wait for me.”
Just you wait.
With that, I ran back to my carriage, my cheeks still burning bright red. The coachman was clearly surprised by my blush, but said nothing, and the carriage left.
Just watch. I’ll make her my wife.
With this new goal in mind, I made my way back home.
✦ ✦ ✦
As soon as I got home, I was greeted by a small mountain of incorrect documents to occupy my mind with. My father had prepared them for me, seemingly wanting to lift my spirits.
It would be some time before I learned that the girl had been adopted and taken elsewhere.