She propped her digital camera up on a stack of encyclopedias. The red recording light flickered to life.
As the ink flowed, the throbbing in her hand turned into a dull hum. By the time she reached the third page, the "Awesome Vid" she had planned to record for her imaginary fans wasn't about backyard stunts anymore. It was a manifesto. She propped her digital camera up on a
In the sudden silence of the hallway, eight-year-old Tara stared at her hands. Her fingertips were already throbbing, trapped in the narrow gap where wood met frame. She didn't scream. Instead, she took a shaky breath, pulled her fingers free, and watched the angry red welts begin to bloom across her knuckles. By the time she reached the third page,
"This is Tara," she whispered, holding her bruised hand up to the lens like a badge of honor. "And today, I learned that even when things slam shut, you're still the one holding the pen." Her fingertips were already throbbing, trapped in the