An unwanted Christmas gift

I shoulder the chalet door open and make a beeline over the veranda towards the pool. My feet barely touch the wooden deck, and I hear how the coil spring jerks the door shut behind me. I launch myself off the deck with a giant leap, ignoring the stairs, and land hard on the grass just as the door bursts open again. Petro laughs out loud, and her feet stomp loudly on the planks. From somewhere inside the two-bedroom chalet, I hear my mother call out, “Slow down, you two!”

I’m eight years and seven months old, and my scrawny legs pump furiously up and down as I race across the lawn. Petro is 13, and she’s both taller and stronger than