Sharey

Sharey splits the last biscuit. Every time. Sharey has never once eaten a whole biscuit without offering half of it to somebody, and means it.

"Half for you, half for me!"

Except for the fox.

The fox is small and wooden and one ear is chipped, and it lives in Sharey's pocket, and when Buddy asked for a go with it Sharey said no so fast that both of them were startled.

Buddy went off, a bit hurt. Sharey sat down feeling like the worst fluff in Candyfloss Land.

I'm the sharing one. I share everything. What is wrong with me?

Sharey took the fox out and looked at it. A chipped ear, a bit of the paint gone. It was not even a good toy. And Sharey could not, would not, hand it over, and felt horribly guilty about it all afternoon.

Mello found Sharey there.

"Is that the fox?"

Sharey nodded miserably. "Buddy asked. I said no. I never say no."

"Why is it special?"

"It was Grandad's," said Sharey, and then, very quietly, "it's the only one of his things I've got."

Mello nodded slowly.

"Then that one isn't for sharing," said Mello. "And that is completely fine."

Sharey stared. "But sharing is the whole—"

"Sharing is brilliant, and you are the best at it in the whole of Candyfloss Land. But it only means anything because you choose it. If you had to give away every single thing you loved, that wouldn't be generous. That would just be having nothing."

Sharey went and found Buddy and said the true thing.

"I'm sorry I said no like that. The fox was my grandad's. It's the one thing I can't share. Anything else, though. Anything."

And Buddy said, "Oh! That's alright. Can I see it, though? Just see."

So they sat on the step and looked at the fox together, and Buddy said the chipped ear was the best bit.

Sharey still splits every biscuit, and makes taking turns feel like a game rather than a punishment.