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Quick Sand.

“I think Ingrid wants to read, Mrs. Hunt!”
I looked over to the girl who singled me out. “Why did you do that?!” I whispered to her.
“This is what you get for tripping me at recess, freak!”
“It was an accident I swear!”
This class was my least favorite. My classmates didn’t like me and I hated reading.
I looked at my book.
This page, with its words that speak nothing but nonsense to me. Curves of each letter flipped and moved making my eyes cross and my head dizzy.
All of my classmates stared at me, and so did my teacher pressuring me to speak.
I couldn’t. My mouth was sandpaper and my cheeks flushed. My heart beat faster when I heard snickers of laughter.
“Ingrid, you have to read.”
“I can’t.”
“Oh of course you can’t. Why is that?” The girl who pointed me out said in a devil’s advocate tone.
“Because I’m different.”
“Because you’re a freak!”
The teacher shushed the class from laughing and I buried my head in my arms. Maybe I was a freak.
After all, I really couldn’t read. I was dyslexic.

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