June’s mother knew everything. Especially where June was concerned, she knew. If June did something wrong, it would be impossible to hide. The child would fit as many words possible between the capital letter that opens a sentence and the full stop that closes it. The sentence would go on forever and in each one a lie to cover another lie. By the time she was done, the story could fit into the books June buried her nose in when she had nothing to do. Any other child would simply say I didn’t do it”, not June. June’s mother wasn’t sure if the lies were to convince June or everyone else, the only thing she could guarantee was they would all be entertained. As she prepared herself to listen to another elaborate story about why June’s school uniform was ripped on the sides and much dirtier than a usual day at school, she wondered if it was time to take the storybooks away. June said she saw a pickpocket steal from a woman on her way home and she chased him until she retrieved the woman’s bag. They tussled for a brief time ripping her clothes and getting herself covered in dirt. Then the woman very tall and very dark took down her address that she would come to see June’s parents to thank them. The story was surprisingly short and simple but as the days passed no one came. Two weeks later, June’s mother opened the door to a very tall and very dark woman and she knew she hadn’t lost her touch.
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