“Child! Hush.” Margaret screeched and eyed the stoplight, praying for it to change.
The group laughed.
She wished her automobile had windows like her cousin’s.
The miscreants quieted. A growing unease twisted in Margaret’s stomach. Children were never quiet, unless they were scheming.
The sound of wood striking an object broke the silence. “Miss! Here!”
Margaret held her breath, captive in this place. Then, bam, the smack of an orange against her face. Juice trickled down her neck and Margaret couldn’t take it anymore. “Scram! You scoundrels, you wastes of space!”
The boy smiled through dirty teeth. “Miss! You’re wrong. I’m gonna be a baseball star.”
Written for last weeks Micro Bookends