After a few rainy days, the sun had finally come out and all around the birds were twittering. It looked like the swallows were enjoying the warm air, too. After lunch, Primrose Class ran into the schoolyard with loud whoops of joy.
First onto the grass was Emma – she always ran the fastest. Her dark curls shook like tight, bouncy springs as she ran.
“Look out, Emma! Don’t let any birds fly into that nest on your head!” Thomas and the other boys shouted from behind her.
Emma stopped, and her smile vanished. There was no way of getting her stiff, curly hair into sleek plaits or pigtails like her classmates had. Even getting a hairbrush through it took serious effort. No matter what she did, Emma’s hair always stuck out this way and that. It had a mind of its own.
“Don’t listen to them,” puffed her friend Nicola as she caught up with her. “They’re just jealous they can’t run as fast as you.”
But Emma remained pensive and glum. It wasn’t the first time she had compared herself to her friends. Why couldn’t she, too, have beautiful, smooth hair like Nicola’s? It was easy for her to ignore the boys, they never made fun of her.
It was Mr Owens on playground duty that day, and he was watching all this from the edge of the playing field. During playtime he said nothing, just kept watching and let the children play.
But at the end of the day, he said, “Children, fetch your bags and come and wait by the gate with me. Your parents will be here any moment.”
All the Primrose Class children excitedly crowded up to the gate. The school stood at the top of…