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    I make my way through the all too familiar route to my healing spot, the place where I can be at peace but the place that still creates the most chaos inside me. I clench and unclench my hands, running my fingers along the bushes lining the sidewalks. 

    I finally reach the pond, my breathing steadier than earlier. I look around and there are only adults and teenagers around, and even then there are still so little. I bend down and dip my hand into the cool, clear water, sending ripples into the liquid mirror. My reflection distorts and I sigh. A distorted person is all my parents and teachers and classmates see. Only one person knows who I truly am. 

   My hands find a flat stone and I stand up again. My feet ground themselves into the pebbles and I steady myself, my stance perfect just as she taught me. I take a deep breath and throw. 

One, two, three, four, five skips. 

    “Find a flat stone,” she told me. It was a spring day, just on the edge of the summer season. I got down on my knees and found a large, circular, flat stone. I smiled up at my sister and she said, “Good, Pebble.” 

    She held one in her dominant hand, standing in front of me so that I could copy her. She threw her rock and I counted her skips. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight skips. 

I miss how she called me Pebble all the time. Now that she’s far away, fighting for a war in another country, I rarely get to hear her call me Pebble again. I wonder when I’ll hear that again. 

I look to my right and someone is watching me. When I catch her looking at me, she looks away and starts searching for her own rock. I shake my head and flick my wrist, releasing the rock. 

One, two, three, four, five skips. 

    “Yeah, like that!” she said, grinning at me. “All in the wrist. Move your arm less. Then you’ll get more, just like me!” 

    I wanted to be just like her. I beamed back and picked up another rock. I waited for her to find that “perfect rock” she always talked about, and we stood in the shallow end, ready to throw. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven skips. 

    “Hey, you’re pretty good,” the girl calls out to me. I blink, jolted back to reality. She smiles at me and I realize that my skip count was larger than hers. “Who taught you?” 

    “My sister,” I say carefully. I study her face, unsure as to why she is talking to me. No one ever approaches me. Then again, she doesn’t seem to be from my school. 

    “You had a good teacher,” she says, throwing another rock. It only skips twice. 

    I bend down and fish a “perfect rock” out of the water. I hand it to her, saying, “They have to be flat, or else it won’t work.” 

    “How’d you find that so fast?” She smiled wryly. “You probably just have the golden touch.” 

    Golden touch, huh? 

    I walk around her and I place her fingers on the rock, thumb on top, index on the side, middle on the bottom. Then I pick up my own rock, standing in front of her the same way my sister did. “It’s all in the wrist.” 

    I flick my wrist. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten skips. 

    She methodically placed my fingers onto the rock and held my wrist. I let my joint go slack and she flicked it for me, the rock skipping so fast I couldn’t count. 

    “Wow,” I said. My eight-year-old brain couldn’t comprehend what I had just done. Or what she made me do. 

    “Now, you try it,” she said. “Just practice.” 

    “We should go here every day,” I exclaimed, my hands feeling for another “perfect rock” in the water. 

    “Okay, then,” she said, laughing. I looked up at her, ready to skip rocks on my own. 

    We stood there, balanced. My life was balanced. Everything was fine. 

    We flicked our wrists, sending the rocks across the water. 

One, two, three, four skips. 

    “Hey, not bad!” I say, smiling at her. “It’s easy, right?” 

    “Now that you’ve taught me, yes,” she said. She picked up another rock and skipped it, the pebble flying faster than before. “What was your sister’s name?” 

    I hesitate. “Amari.” 

   “What’s your name?” 

   “Amaya.” 

    She nods. “Well, both of you are good teachers.” 

    A faint smile appears on my face. “Thanks.” 

    I ready myself again, and the girl is next to me, copying my movements. I finally let my smile spread across my face and we flick our wrists again. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven skips.