"Delicate." Spah.... She spat the word through her teeth, pausing to rinse the last remaining bit of blood out before spitting both blood and tooth onto the ground.

"Who's delicate now?"

She dropped her fists and walked away, leaving her big brother laying askew on the ground. Her heart pounded and she knew she would be in trouble when dad got home, but it was better than letting her brother win. That was the last time she'd let him win.

Her worries faded as she walked down the long hallway, away from the kitchen and into her bedroom. She still had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich clenched in her right fist, but by now it was little more than a smooshy pile of bread and stick red sauce.

She sat on the edge of her bed, wiping her hands on the quilt grandma has made for her when she turned 11. "Well," she thought, "Grandma would be so proud of me."

She placed her sandwich on the dresser and began to cut off the edges, ever so delicately finishing what she had started before her brother called her a delicate sissy.