Blushy

Blushy meant to say "Miss."

What Blushy actually said, in front of the whole class, in a nice clear voice, was: "Yes, Mum."

There was a tiny pause. Then somebody laughed, and somebody else laughed, and Blushy went the colour of a strawberry, from the toes all the way up.

Blushy wanted to disappear. Not metaphorically. Blushy genuinely wanted the floor to open up and swallow Blushy whole, chair and all, and never give Blushy back.

For the rest of the day, Blushy said nothing. Not one word, in case another one came out wrong. At playtime Blushy stood facing the wall.

Dinky found Blushy there.

"Everyone saw," said Blushy, in a very small voice. "Everyone will remember for ever."

"Hm," said Dinky. "What did I do last Tuesday?"

Blushy blinked. "I don't know."

"Exactly. I sat in a cake. A whole cake. In front of everybody." Dinky shrugged. "And you'd forgotten. You had literally forgotten a whole entire cake."

Blushy thought about this. It was true. Blushy had forgotten.

"They'll forget by Friday," said Dinky. "The only one who's going to remember this for ever is you, and that's only because you're being so mean to yourself about it."

Blushy's mouth went a bit wobbly, in the direction of a smile.

"So what do I do?"

"Say the magic words. Oops, that's okay. Then carry on."

Blushy took a breath. "Oops," said Blushy. "That's okay."

It felt silly. It also, strangely, helped.

Blushy went back inside, still pink, and answered the very next question, out loud, on purpose.

That was the brave bit, and nobody in the room noticed it happen.

By Friday, nobody remembered. Blushy checked.

Blushy still goes pink. Blushy will always go pink; it comes with caring what people feel. But going pink and carrying on anyway turns out to be braver than never tripping up at all.