(And here, the storyteller laughs — you have to, like it’s built into the narrative, a piece of coding hardwired, a signal to whoever’s speaking to stop, tilt their head back, and guffaw wildly.)
The boy, shy and sheepish, sat back and made a nest in the tall revenna and silver grass.
“My cousin Rachel taught me a game,” he said.
“What kind.” She was wary of boys and their games. This much she knew already.
“It’s called jinx.”
A huge thanks to the editors for taking a chance on this. I’m grateful.