Skipping Rope.(Brief Article)(Short Story)

As soon as they've finished their sandwiches, the children are allowed outside to play. Maisie catches up with Lydia at the bottom of the steps. Wanna play skippy?" she asks. "Uncle Ronnie came round last night and he brought me a new skipping rope".

Lydia hesitates. She doesn't like Maisie. No one does. And Maisie knows it. She says quickly, "You could have first go. Aw, come on, Lydia. It isn't any fun, skipping alone."

Lydia starts to shake her head but then she changes her mind. "Oh, all right. Let's go round the back of the shelter shed. It's not so crowded there."

They dart across the quadrangle and past their classroom to lean, panting, against the wall of the shelter shed. Maisie holds out the skipping rope. Lydia knows she ought to let Maisie have first turn. It's her rope. But she tightens her mouth. "She offered," she tells herself. The rope's got polished, wooden handles. They feel like satin. Lydia's fingers linger over them. If only she had an Uncle Ronnie ...

"Hurry up," says Maisie. "I'm going to start counting. When I get to a hundred, you have to give it back to me, right?"

Lydia starts to skip. She closes her eyes to concentrate. The sun is warm on her face. Light splinters in front of her eyes and she smiles. The rope makes a satisfactory thwack as it hits the asphalt. She is in rhythm with it, legs and arms and her own steady beating heart.

Maisie shouts, "`Stay turn, `stay turn," and she grabs Lydia's arm. Dazed, Lydia watches the world become ordinary again, the yard full of shrieking, jostling children, Maisie's flushed, freckled face, the corrugated iron shelter shed. The rope dangles from her hand. Wordlessly, she holds it out.