Little Freddie Carter was the one with orange hair. His protruding teeth made words come out funny. His mother said to be nice to the bullies, confound them, but it was hard being different.
Today it was swimming. Freddie was cold, hiding his shivers from Rory.
Another group approached, helpers surrounding a wheelchair, a blanket tucked at the girl’s waist – she was cold too! Soothing voices wheeled her down, still shielded as the water lapped.
Suddenly she was in, and away.
“Did you see that?” Rory hissed.
“Hmm?” said Freddie.
But Freddie had seen: the silver glimpse of her fish’s tail.