Maeve, The Game

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I lie still beneath the autumn leaves as their edges poke my chin. Their golden-brown cover muffles the distant voices. How long can I stay hidden?

There’s a thrill in being undetected. Mom always says, “You have a way of getting people to come to you, Maeve.” Maybe she’s right. I do like making them want to.

I watch from beneath the leaves, shy and brave all at once. For now, I’m the quiet center of the game.

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