The trees buzzed with cicadas, their shrill melody drowning the laughter and wails below. Plastic playgrounds teemed with life, countless children playing in an endless haze of dirt and grime.

You won’t play with them? A woman’s gentle voice echoed in her ears.

Melissa blinked, taken away from her daydream. A twisted pine tree shielded her from the sun, its branches wrapped around her body like soft, supple fingers. The other students’ screams grated against her ears.

She held Teddy closer.

But the weather is perfect, honey. The stuffed bear, who Melissa named Teddy, wiggled in her arms. Her voice was gentle, without a hint of judgment. Don’t you want to play?

Melissa watched a ladybug crawl into her tattered dress. The bear’s white fur glimmered in the darkness, proof of the girl’s immaculate care.

She shook her head. “You’ll get dirty.”

The girl admired Teddy’s fluff, a nostalgic embrace, and nuzzled it in her arms. She didn’t notice the clamor of voices approaching her, cawing laughter, the kick of a ball—

Her vision flashed black as something smacked her face. She sprawled to the ground, desperately holding Teddy above the dirt. A soccer ball rolled to a stop in front of her.

Hoots of laughter rang in her ears. “Goal!” a group of children jeered. They crowded around her as she stumbled to her feet. Her face stung. A hint of blood tickled the inside of her nose.

Are you okay? Teddy flopped in her hand as the girl blinked the spots out of her vision. Melissa inspected Teddy’s fur before nodding.

“You brought it again?” An older boy reached toward her. The children watched with stretched, vacant smiles as the girl shied away from his reach. Their grins overlapped with the screams of monkey bars, tag, hide-and-seek, drumming in her ears incessantly.

“Don’t touch Teddy,” the girl mumbled. Most of the students circling her were older, though she recognized some of her classmates near the back, glancing at each other as if they shared an inside joke.

“Aww, what did Teddy say this time?” The older boy’s tongue dripped with sympathy. “Can I see Teddy for a second?”

Melissa shuffled backwards as the circle of faces convulsed with smirks and giggles. “What do I do?” She squeezed Teddy’s hand as she shuffled backwards.

They can’t hurt me.

“...Really?” Melissa asked. She listened closely to the toy in her arms, but Teddy didn’t respond again.

The children covered their grins, bursting into whispers as Melissa quietly offered Teddy to the boy, who snatched it from her hands with vicious glee.

Suddenly, the boy frowned. He put Teddy close to his ear. “Wait, I can hear a voice. It’s talking to me!”

The children glanced at each other, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.

Melissa revealed a tentative smile. “Teddy spoke to you? That’s great! What did she say?” Her smile creased nervously as the boy shoved her back to the ground. “What did she say to convince you?”

“Well,” the older boy drawled. His lips flicked into a grin. “It said: ‘I love eating dirt’!” He flung Teddy into the air. The children laughed as Teddy arched into the sandbox with a dull thump.

Melissa’s smile crumpled.

Across the playground, Teddy's stitched grin stared back at her, stained forever.

Melissa couldn’t always hear Teddy’s voice. Before her mother left, Teddy never spoke, so she had to use her imagination. Whenever she played pretend with Teddy, it only responded with silence and a fluff-stitched smile. No matter how lonely or sad Melissa was, Teddy was always happy, and that made her happy, too.

Yet the girl’s most blissful memories were still with her mother. The sweetness of her mother’s skin, the softness and the way she hugged her tight, humming a lullaby Melissa couldn’t yet understand—those were the moments she wished would never end.

The day her mother disappeared, Teddy spoke for the first time. Melissa returned from school to an apartment that reeked of a familiar sweetness. Her father was drinking on the counter. Shattered bottles coated the floorboards. And warm, metallic crimson—what kind of drink was that?

Her mother ran away, he said. She ran away because she didn’t love them, he said. Then, he corrected himself: Because she didn’t love her. Because mommy and daddy still loved each other so much; the little brat was the reason why she left them behind.

Melissa didn’t believe it. Why did her mother hug her like that, sing her to sleep every night, just to leave her? Because she didn’t love her anymore? Melissa couldn’t understand.

Her mother never came home again.

That night, Teddy comforted her. Melissa still remembered Teddy’s first words:

Don’t cry, honey. I’m here, so don’t cry.

Teddy was always there to comfort her, and her mother became a distant, painful memory.

Now Teddy was stained forever.

The fight was a haze. Melissa vaguely felt her body crushed, fists and nails gouging into her skin, but the girl was only focused on the boy who threw Teddy into the sandbox, whose eyes flashed with fear as she writhed and shrieked, glaring at him every intention to tear him apart, no matter how impossible that was.

The blows stopped as someone extracted her from the fight.

A voice carried Melissa in its arms. “What's going on?” A murmur trickled through the crowd as the chaos receded. It seemed many of the older students recognized the voice. “Stop it!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, tears of indignation in his eyes. “Daan? What do you know? She almost scratched my throat out!” Indeed, there were three bleeding lines on the boy’s throat where Melissa’s nails had sunk into their target.

"Uh-huh. And look what you did to her,” he said. The other children muttered, shifting their gaze away from the awful sight before them.

Melissa shook her head. In fact, she was fine. The fight was too chaotic for bruises that actually hurt. The scratch marks dripped into her clothes, but her mind was so feverishly racing that she could hardly feel the pain.

The older boy attempted one last resistance. “She’s crazy, Daan! She hears things from a stupid stuffed animal!” he shouted.

The voice didn’t react, carrying her away as if she weighed nothing.

Melissa released the tension in her body, allowing the voice to take her. A second passed before her eyes flung open. “Where’s Teddy?” She nearly squirmed from the voice’s arms.

“I brought him, don’t worry.” The voice opened the door to the storage closet and laid Melissa onto a foam mat.

As she basked in the musty air, Melissa could finally relax. The boy who saved her handed her a water bottle from a case on the floor. Before she drank, Melissa glanced around. “Why am I here?”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Why did he bring her to the gym storage closet?

The boy nodded. It was a reasonable question. “Going to the nurse would complicate things. Won’t your parents get mad?”

Melissa's eyes flashed with understanding. She knew what he meant. Going to the nurse meant she would only be hurt more. She’d been to the nurse before. Last month, because her father would often drink, she went to the nurse for an ice pack. Her face hurt. The principal got involved. Her father became very angry, so he hit her hard after that.

Was that what he meant?

Melissa’s throat seized into a knot as her memories overtook her. She hiccupped, gasping for breath. Teddy’s voice echoed in her mind:

Deep breaths, honey. Focus on my voice.

Tears welled in Melissa’s eyes. Her shivers subsided.

The boy noticed her movements, procuring Teddy from his jacket. “You wanted this thing, right?”

Melissa reached for Teddy, but the boy took his hand away at the last moment. She felt a rush of anxiety as the boy seemed to tease her like the others, until she realized his expression was dead serious.

“Tell me about him. His name is Teddy, right?” he asked. Unlike the other children, his question seemed to come from genuine interest.

“Her name is Teddy.”

The boy nodded. “Okay. Nice to meet you, Teddy. I’m Daan, in fifth grade this year.” He shook the bear’s limp arm. He was some grades older than her, Melissa noticed.

This kid has manners, Teddy said. The boy seemed nice, so Melissa remembered his name this time.

After shaking her hand, Daan handed Teddy over. Melissa inspected Teddy’s stained fur, baring her teeth at the conspicuous dirt marks which didn’t rub away no matter how hard she tried. She blinked away her tears. Now Teddy was stained forever.

Daan comforted her. “It’s not too bad. I think bleach would clean it off.”

“Water won’t work,” Melissa replied shortly. The stains in her clothes didn’t wash away with water, so it was silly to think the same could fix Teddy.

The boy tilted his head. “I said bleach.”

“Bleach?”

Daan nodded emphatically. “I can show you later. It should be able to clean off dirt just fine.”

Melissa felt a thump in her chest. Daan really did care. “So you believe me? You really do?” The children who teased her would never shake Teddy’s hand and introduce themselves, much less help Melissa clean her.

“Uh, yeah,” the boy said with a half-smile. “But I want to test something first,” the boy said. “Cover your eyes.”

Melissa covered her eyes, shrouding her vision in darkness. “What’s going on?”

Oh, that’s smart, Teddy said, wiggling in her arms.

“What do you mean?” Melissa whispered. She couldn’t see anything, so she was forced to relay with Teddy.

“Did Teddy speak to you just now? I can’t hear her,” Daan said. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Melissa scrunched her face. “What if I peek?” Would peeking make Daan believe her?

Daan and Teddy’s laughter overlapped. “Peeking won’t help.”

He’s right. Tell him there’s twelve fingers.

Even as young as she was, Melissa knew something was wrong. “Twelve? Aren’t there only ten fingers?” Melissa wanted to peek so bad. Did Daan have twelve fingers? Was he borrowing someone else’s fingers?

“Normally,” Daan said. “You can open your eyes now.”

Melissa frowned as she uncovered her eyes. Daan only held out two fingers, so where did Teddy get the other ten from? Though apparently twelve was the answer Daan was looking for, judging by his grin.

“Teddy’s real,” Daan decided. “Have you ever been curious about what she is? Why she can talk?”

He knows the answer. You can ask him if you want.

Melissa shook her head. As long as Teddy kept talking to her, she didn’t care. Daan shrugged. He popped open a first aid kit from the wall.

The girl didn’t flinch as Daan poured rubbing alcohol onto her arms. Her skin curled and hissed, but she didn’t cry.

Daan broke the silence. “I have two of them, just like your Teddy. My mom gave them to me for my birthday. They’re names are Bezel and Irene. Say hi,” he said, pointing to her left.

Wow, Teddy said, unimpressed. What a nice mom he has.

“Mom?” Melissa looked to her left, but nothing was there. Was it her imagination, or was the air colder than normal? “Bezel… Irene. I’m Melissa.”

No one responded.

With a twist, Daan bound her arms in soft white gauze.

The recess bell chimed in the distance. Daan finished with her bandages, which were surprisingly snug. “Don’t talk with Teddy in front of those people. They’ll tease you for that.”

Melissa pretended to nod. She couldn’t see herself following Daan’s instructions. Teddy was the only person she could talk to, and she couldn’t imagine spending a whole day without her.

Daan peeked his head out of the storage closet before opening the door. In the distance, a mass of students filtered away from the playground back to their classes. “My class is right there.” He pointed to a box of bricks. “If you wait there after school, I can show you how to clean off those dirt stains.”

“Okay,” Melissa said.

And what do you say to him? Teddy reminded her.

“Thank you,” Melissa whispered.

Her afternoon plans were canceled as the speakers called her to the principal's office. The older boy whose name she never remembered had gone to the nurse afterwards and told them she started it.

Melissa sat down in the oppressive atmosphere. The principal glowered behind his desk, and from the corner of her eye, Melissa could see the older boy smirking with righteousness. His neck was lined with dozens of band-aids, and they were a lot uglier than her white gauze.

The principal sighed. “Why did you scratch him? Noah said he was only playing around.” The man seemed to ignore the bandages on her arms.

Melissa frowned. The older boy got to the principal first, so explaining herself was useless. She tried to explain before, but they never took Teddy seriously. Or her, for that matter. “I don’t know,” she muttered.

“That’s been three times this month. Should I call your father again?”

Melissa froze. “I don’t know.”

The principal heaved a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t get smart with me. What do you want? Because I’ll call your father right now if you want me to.”

“I-I-” she stuttered, hiccupping softly.

Breathe, honey.

The principal shooed the older boy. “Don’t worry, Noah. I’ll take care of this.” The boy’s grin widened as he skipped away, the band-aids on his neck rippling like snakes. He slammed the door behind him.

Melissa stayed silent as the principal rubbed his forehead. The man watched her expression. “Are you sorry for what you did?”

“I’m sorry,” Melissa answered.

The principal rapped his knuckles on the desk. “No, you aren’t.” She wasn’t. “I’m calling your father.”

“I’m sorry,” Melissa repeated mechanically.

But it was too late. The principal grabbed his phone. Each click of her father’s number sent shivers down her skin. The man put the phone on speaker, letting Melissa hear the dial tone play. He gave her a meaningful look.

“I said I’m sorry. I said it.”

The man shushed her with his finger. Melissa’s mouth dried. “Teddy,” she mumbled into her arms.

I’ll protect you.

The dial tone stopped, and Melissa’s breath froze with it.

“Good afternoon, Mister Cardoso.” The principal’s face split into a smile, nothing like his stony expression earlier. “You are Melissa's father, correct? I’m here again regarding her classroom activities. She’s caused another situation.”

The silence stretched for what seemed like ages. Melissa knew what would eventually twist from the speaker. The silence would magnify her father’s anger until all he could manage were short hisses, spitting whispers. The bruises that really hurt would come later, when she was alone with him again.

“Yes,” the voice answered. “Melissa Cardoso is my daughter.” The voice was monotone.

Melissa covered her mouth, holding back a scream. Something about the voice terrified her even more than the thought of home.

Who was speaking?

The voice was not her father’s.