Never Grow Up

This girl lives across the street from me. I believe her name is Dyrah, but I have no idea how to spell it. We’ve spoken a few times, while she was sitting in front of her house selling chocolate bars or homemade gelatin treats (above) to raise money for her school, an act I find to be particularly endearing, especially in a neighborhood where the kids are pretty tough and, for the most part, don’t seem to be that into school. I often see her playing on the block with younger kids or sitting out front with her mother. She just seems so nice and innocent, and for some reason it makes me kind of sad. This fall she will enter high school. High school is tough. I’m sure she’ll get good grades and stay involved, but for some reason I feel protective of her and don’t want her to have any problems. I don’t want the tougher kids to be mean to her. I don’t want boys to make her cry. I don’t want her to be left out. I don’t want her to feel pressured to grow up too fast. She’s so nice and I want her to stay just the way she is, forever.