We moved again in January of my first grade year.
I lugged my footstool to my new desk in my new classroom, the footstool my granny built me so that my feet didn't dangle and ache from not being able to touch the ground.
A new girl is intriguing, and the queen of the dirt, asphalt and hot-to-the-touch swingsets took me under her wing, added me to the group of girls who knew how to claim the best part of the shaded concrete for jacks spilled out of cunning little pouches, hop scotch with rocks thrown into squares, and jump rope to chanted cadences.
The new wears off quickly.
The playground queen felt that her group had grown too big and so her executive order was that each day, at recess, one member of the group would take a "day off," go away and play by herself so that the group size was more manageable.
After that, it was always my "day off."