She is beautiful to me. She always, always smiles for me, just when I need it. Sometimes, I wish that she were You, that You were as kind to me as she is. I know that it is impossible. I know that You hate her.

I cannot understand why.

I am walking home from school. There are good days and there are bad days, and today was a bad day. My best friend, my knight in shining armor that rescues me from the other children, was called in to see You today. He was no there to stop the food from being thrown, or the pencils, or the markers. I had been pushed, but my knee hadn't bled very badly and it was numb anyway.

"Is that you?" I whirl around as I hear her voice, shocked. She doesn't walk home this way, does she?

"Hello," I breathe, trying to smile. It's difficult, and I reach up to my cheeks. When did tears get there? I don't remember starting to cry…

She takes my hand and pulls me to a bench, obviously concerned. "Are you alright? Your uniform is stained!" She goes from my head to my shoes, seeing every injury, every piece of evidence that shows my weakness. I'm not sobbing; I just watch her as she worries and talks and asks me what happened.

The tears are coming faster. I feel so humiliated. I try so very hard not to let people see me on the bad days. All I can gasp out is, "Today was a bad day…"

She's crying, too. I don't know if You can understand something like guilt, but it horrifies me to have made her smile disappear. "I was coming home from the store. Do you want to come with me?"

I close my eyes, finally, and feel the tears hot on my cheeks. "I don't want anyone to see." My bag drops top the ground, my books soggy from being dropped in the fountain. I cover my face with my hands, bending down, trying to hide. "Please don't look at me!"

Her hand rests on my shoulder, and I hear her pick up my books. I am steered away, and all I can do is allow my tears to dry up and keep my eyes on my feet. Before I know it, she is keeping me out on the porch of the home she has made with my relatives. "Is anybody home?" There isn't any answer, so she pulls me inside and leads me upstairs. "Don't worry, I'll do a load of laundry. And you can take a bath."

I nod blindly and allow her to take my dirtied clothes. After I carefully wash everything I can, I dry off and peek my head out the door. "A-are you here?" The sound is too soft to carry far. Wrapped in a towel, I walk carefully to the end of the hall, where I know her room is.

She is inside, plying a needle and thread to a tear in one of my socks. At the sound of the door, she turns with a smile that makes me warm. "Your clothes will be ready before you leave. Until then, borrow something from my closet!"

I nod and make my choice. It's light orange, a summer dress made of terry cloth. I fidget with it a little bit, trying to get it to fit properly, but eventually give up. I'm not a woman yet, and don't have the figure to fill out her clothes.

"Here, let me see." She pulls the thin straps tighter and it looks a bit better. "It'll only be a few years before we can share clothes! Oh, but you're so cute now, I'll bet you'll look like a model by then. I'll bet someone will be happy about that!"

I watch myself in the mirror, and all I see is something broken that You have discarded. How can anyone want a girl with such empty eyes?

She bends down to inspect my knee, and asks quietly, "Does this hurt anymore?"

I shake my head and try to smile. "It never hurts, in the end. I try to forget about everything. Usually I let my best friend think about it."

Her eyes widen just a little bit. "But it hurts you, doesn't it? Having to be protected, I mean."

My smile slips, and I look back at myself. "I want to be able to save myself sometimes."

She stands above me, holding my face up to look at it. "You don't have to, though. When Mother died, I was all alone, and I didn't even tell my friends. But your family, and mine, now, has helped me so much! I can live a much better life with the opportunities that have been given to me!"

I reach out, and touch her waist. Without thinking, I take it into my arms and begin to weep. "I want to be as kind as you are!"

She pulls me closer, a hand on my hair. "You already are."

But I don't stop, I don't even try. That a person who has seen me so vulnerable, and still wants me, is an alien feeling.

Why do You hate her so much? I'm sure that she could make you feel warm, just like all of us. Maybe all that any of us want is a mother to help us stay strong.

I wish that I could become as good a mother as she will.