Broken player

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It all started when I went to camp. I was twelve years old: small, stupid, but already with a terrible ego. I had always been pretty: blond curly hair, blue eyes, and a mole above my lip. When I was a kid, I thought I looked like a famous model. Being left alone without my parents, I acted like a queen. The boys paid attention to me. They asked me to dance at discos, gave me flowers picked from the flowerbeds, and chased me around the camp like a cat chasing a mouse.

But there was a quiet, modest boy in our troop. Neither boys nor girls liked him, they didn’t call him for a walk. And I, like a real queen, didn’t even show my face. But he had a very valuable, at that time, object – a player. Without thinking too much, I just went up to him one day and asked him: “Can I hear it?” But it wasn’t even a question, it was an order. He smiled and gladly gave me his valuable item.

My status with this thing, of course, increased even more, it seemed that the whole city, which I walked around with a cool device, envied me. I walked around and listened to music defiantly, enjoying my coolness. Everyone was jealous of me.

The same night another boy chased me and I just couldn’t hold him. He fell down and fell into little pieces. I never thought it would be so easy to break a thing. I was frightened at first, but then, with a fist of will, I took it to the boy. He tried to smile and say it was okay, but his eyes said otherwise. I had never been more ashamed and embarrassed of my behavior. I didn’t have the money to pay for the broken thing, and I didn’t dare tell my parents the truth.