The Space Between Sisters by Mary McNear Page B

little girl was still playing with her baton, she had a new preoccupation: peeling the price tag off the bottle before she got home with it. When she looked up, though, she saw the little girl throw the baton, awkwardly, and saw it come down again, narrowly missing her.
    â€œ Whoa, hey, careful there,” Poppy said, hurrying over to her and picking it up. “You don’t want to bop yourself on the head, do you?” she asked the little girl.
    She shook her head at Poppy, and there was something so serious and, at the same time, so sweet about her expression that Poppy couldn’t help but smile at her. “Here you go,” she said, handing her the baton.
    She took it from Poppy, then blinked her wide bluish-gray eyes and said, “You’re pretty.”
    â€œThank you. So are you,” Poppy said, smiling. “What’s your name?”
    â€œCassie,” the little girl said, still not taking her eyes off her.
    â€œIs that short for Cassandra?”
    â€œNo. It’s short for Cassidy. My dad named me after Butch Cassidy. Do you know who he was?”
    Poppy started to say that she did, but Cassie didn’t give her time to. “He was an outlaw,” she said. “There’s a movie about him. But I haven’t seen it yet, ’cause it’s rated PG, and it’s the old PG, when they weren’t as strict as they are now, so it’s really rated PG13. My mom says we can see it when I’m thirteen, though, and she said my friend Janelle can watch it with us.” She stopped, a little out of breath.
    â€œThat’s interesting,” Poppy said, wondering if all children were this forthcoming about themselves. “It’s not every day that I meet a baton twirling outlaw,” she said.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Cassie asked, with a shy smile.
    â€œMy name is Poppy, after the flower, which my mom loved, and which my dad probably didn’t have any real opinion about. But I should probably get going, Cassie,” she said, picturing Win’s lasagna, already baking in the oven. “Someone’s expecting me. And your mom, or dad, is probably wondering where you are, too,” she added, gesturing at the store. “They must be almost done by now.”
    â€œOh, no, my dad’s here all the time,” Cassie said, swinging her baton. “I can stay out here for as long as I want.”
    And Poppy fully intended to leave, but the expression on Cassie’s face was so sweet, and the sight of the baton was so tempting, that instead Poppy held out her hand. “May I?” sheasked Cassie, indicating the baton, and setting down her handbag and grocery bag.
    Cassie nodded, and handed it to her.
    â€œI used to twirl a long time ago. Let’s see if I can still remember how,” Poppy explained, doing a few basic figure eights, an arm roll, and a thumb toss.
    Cassie clapped, excitedly. “Where’d you learn that?” she asked.
    â€œIn high school. I was a majorette in the marching band,” Poppy said, handing the baton back to her.
    â€œYou’re even better than Miss Suzette.”
    â€œWho’s Miss Suzette?”
    â€œShe’s our instructor,” Cassie said. “She was in the Miss Minnesota pageant once, and for her talent, she twirled. But that was, like, a long time ago,” Cassie said, lowering her voice. “Now she’s kind of old. And she can’t always show us everything because she has bursitis in her elbow.” She frowned. “Do you have bursitis?” she asked Poppy.
    Poppy tried not to smile. “No. I’m not even sure I know what it is,” she said, while making way for a family coming up the steps.
    â€œMe neither,” Cassie said. And then she thought of something else. “Poppy?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œWhen you did baton twirling, were you mean to the other girls who did it with you? The ones who weren’t as good as