The Pocket String

Nila did not want to go to school.

She did not want to go yesterday, and she did not want to go today, and she had a strong feeling about not wanting to go tomorrow either.

It wasn't that school was bad. School had paint and a sandpit and a friend named Iris and a teacher who let you ring a tiny bell when it was tidy-up time. School was fine.

But the morning, the morning when her mum said goodbye at the gate — that was the part that hurt. Her mum's hand would let go of her hand, and Nila's tummy would drop, like she had forgotten something important.

That morning, before school, Nila sat on her bed, very small.

"Mama," she said, "what if I forget you?"