The eucalyptus leaves fluttered quietly in the breeze. I was nestled into a crevice of the tree, consuming my book and my snack of wheat toast. As my 11-year-old legs dangled from the branch, my mind wandered back to Island of the Blue Dolphins, a tale of a girl stranded on an island. This was my afternoon past time of choice, imagining myself into Anne of Green Gables, The Hatchet, Bridge to Terebithia, and any other adventures I could get my hands on. I basked in the fantasy that I could be transported into a new life, a new reality, with the turn of a page.
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