Chasing the Golden Butterfly of Parks

Anny's blonde ponytail bounced with every step as she marched through the tall grass of Whispering Pines Park. Her golden retriever, Barnaby, trotted faithfully at her side, sniffing a patch of clover. Anny’s large blue eyes scanned the meadow, searching for movement. "What if we find a grasshopper the size of a pickle?" she asked her friend, Leo. Leo kicked a pebble. "Maybe." Anny gripped the long wooden handle of the neighborhood’s only butterfly net. She had been carrying it since they arrived. Suddenly, a flash of shimmering gold caught her eye. It was the Golden Winged Monarch—the rarest butterfly in the park! "Leo, look!" Anny gasped, raising the net. But when she turned, Leo wasn't looking at the butterfly. He was staring at her hands, his shoulders slumped. A hot, prickly feeling crawled up Anny’s neck. Her cheeks burned. She looked at the net, then at Leo’s empty hands. She had held the net the entire playtime. She hadn't shared once. The golden butterfly fluttered right past her nose, but Anny’s arms felt too heavy to swing. The embarrassment felt like a tight knot in her stomach.