Thanks, Vinitha! These challenges are fun to do.
“Stop hurting him!” I cried as they punched that coloured boy, Joe Johnson who worked at the corner store, but they only laughed at me since I was dumb Savannah, that white trash girl from the trailer park, a nobody.
Finally they got bored and ran off to see what other mean things they could do in our backward Lousiana town on that sultry summer night in 1962.
I took Joe’s large dark hand in my smaller white one and helped him to his feet.
“If only more people were kind like you,” he said, his warm dark eyes meeting mine.