But on the first day of school, when her teacher read slowly, “Miranda? Miranda Windwood Rose?” things were different. The teacher hesitated at the sudden rustling whisper that filled the classroom; the other children looked around nervously. Miranda knew then that her name wasn’t the sort she could carry to school with her year after year.This is one of the first stories I finished, though it took some years of learning and revising before I sold it. Maybe that’s part of why I find that how I feel about the story changes a little each time I read it.
With thanks to lucy_anne, who loaned me her name for the story. 🙂