Room in the Doorway

Imani sat on her bedroom rug with a piece of peach-coloured chalk and a little chalkboard laid flat before her. She was six, and she knew exactly what her pretend bakery needed. There were round buns, a wobbly counter, and a doorway tall enough for anyone who wanted to come inside. She drew a tiny handle and rubbed chalk dust from her thumb.

Her brother, Leo, was drawing beside her. His dinosaur had a long tail and feet like potatoes. Mum sat on the bed, putting clean socks into pairs. Imani reached for a brown chalk stub to add a tray of buns. Beside her, Leo swept the cloth across her doorway. "My dinosaur needs more room," he said.

The handle disappeared. So did one whole side of the doorway. Heat rushed up Imani's neck. Her fingers closed hard around the brown chalk. "You're an idiot!" she shouted. The words came before she could explain about the entrance, before she could show him where the customers were supposed to walk.