Canada
I'm not ten feet from the stoop when my foot runs aground on something unfamiliar and I stumble. I manage to keep my balance, but what's in the pot splashes into the snow. In the thin morning light, I stare at the snow and the yellow patch where the liquid is trickling into it. Something black lies beneath. I rub the spot with my foot. It's a boot—I recognize it as belonging to Albert Brooks.
"You’re supposed to be my friend, Jas," Mitsu said matter-of-factly, but there was hurt in her voice. "If you’re not going to act like one, I want my bracelet back."
"Fine!" I said. With one sudden movement, I tore the bracelet off my wrist. Too late, I remembered the clasp. The bracelet caught for a moment on the width of my hand, then gave. The red beads flew from the broken string, bouncing with tiny plops over the boardwalk and off into the mud. Mitsu burst into tears, turned and ran.
"Mitsu!" I called. The shock of my own action had stopped the flow of anger with a sudden, sickening bump.
"I’m sorry!" I called after her. But Mitsu was gone.
