Wanting to grow young

I lace my pink leather sneakers. I tie it into a double knot but frown at the fact I pulled it too tight. I'm Trissa. I'm 11 years old and I'm short with smooth light brown hair. I hate the fact that my eyes are hazel. I pull on my jacket and slip my hood over my head. I head off to school. Right now we're learning about taxes and bank accounts. I hop over puddles and splash across the road. I try to ignore the glares from people everywhere. I hear the school bell ring so I make myself go full on sprinting to the school yard. When I get inside I flip my hood off my frizzed ponytail. All day I dream of having a break. I can't stop thinking of what I can do after school. The only free time I have is after school and after work on the weekends. I remember when people used to not have jobs on the weekend. I think that was a better time then now. I would never tell anyone else that though. If I did I would be sitting in the corner of my class, being shunned. "Trissa! Focus!" I hear my teacher snap. She shocks me into reality, so loudly I jump and my elbow hits the corner of my desk. I wince but try not to whine so I don't get into trouble. I chew my lip but stop. Grown ups do not bite their lips. Instead I suck my teeth. There isn't a rule against that. Not yet, any way. "What did we say about daydreaming?" She snaps. "I shouldn't daydream, because it prevents us from growing up." I answer. She nods.
After school, I walk to my job. My job is to clean counters in the home. I go there to check in on them. Everything is spotless so I leave.
I grin when I get home because I have a doll that I've had since I was two.

That night I have a dream. I'm dreaming that we're at the assembly from last week. It was about standing up for what you believe in. I wake up covered in sweat. I realize what I should do.

At school, I sit down but I do not start my work. My teacher glares at me. Now it's time.

I stand up and clear my throat. "I don't want to grow up." I announce loud and proud. There's gasps from the class. "You heard me. I refuse to grow up. I'm eleven, but I need to worry about taxes." I shout at my class. "Please realize you can't force your self to grow up." I finish. It's silent for a while. Then people start to applaud. I smile. I have made a difference.