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"I want to be a princess," she continued. "I want a pink princess dress. And pink princess shoes," she scrunched up her face deep in thought, "anda pink bag," she squeaked.
"Slow down," he laughed. "Let me get some colors," he told her as he rummaged through his bag, finding some crayons.
"What type of princess do you want to be?" He asked when he had everything ready.
"Princess," she repeated, frowning.
"Like the ones on TV?" He needed some more information to work with, but she seemed even more confused when he mentioned the princesses on TV.
"Tell me where you saw this type of princess you want," he urged gently when he saw her befuddlement.
Her face fell even more and she fidgeted with her fingers.
"Hey, I need all the information so I can make you the prettiest princess ever, ok?"
She batted her lashes, slowly nodding.
"I saw this doll," she started, her words a little stilted, "she was wearing a pink dress. Everything was pink," her lips tugged up in a smile. "And she was so pretty," she gushed, the word pretty sounding more like pewtty. But Michele just nodded along, not bothering to correct her speech.
"Go on," he smiled.
"But the woman there told me to leave," she sighed. "She said it was for princesses, not for girls like me."
"Girls like you?"
"Unkept," she nodded sadly, probably meaning to say unkempt.
"She said what?" he couldn't believe someone would be so mean to a child so cute. But he supposed some people only saw the outside—and if she'd called her unkempt, it was likely a common occurrence for her to be this neglected. He thought back to the unkind wordshe'd heard from adults all his life, as well as those from other children, and he couldn't help but empathize with her situation.
"She was right," she continued, swinging her legs on the bench. It was then that he noticed the scuffs on her knees, some red and angry. "No one keeps me," she said, still thinking the woman had called herunkept.
"She was just mean," Michele told her, "don't listen to her. Some people are just mean."
She stopped moving then, giving him an odd look.
"Can you make me a princess, then?" she quickly switched topics again, forcing a smile on her face.
"Sure thing," he agreed—he didn't think he had the heart to deny her at that moment.
"A pretty princess," she reiterated as she moved closer to him, raising herself slightly to peer over his shoulder as he worked.
His lips stretched into a smile, Michele started with a sketch. It wasn't hard to give her a princess-like look. He was sure that if she was more taken care of she would look every inch regal—especially with her adorable features.
"Am I doing good?" he asked and she readily nodded.
"Love it," she breathed out.
And so he continued with his sketch until he had everything done, her princess dress, her princess shoes and her princess bag. It was when he started adding the colors that she became a little too quiet by his side.
One glance and he found her watching him with a mix of awe, sadness and happiness all in one.
"Do you like it?"
She didn't answer, merely moving her chin up and down, swallowing hard and blinking even harder—almost as if she didn't think it was real.
"It's so pretty," she finally spoke, and he noticed she didn't considerherselfpretty, merely the drawing.
"Like you," he smiled. "Pretty like you. After all, you were the model."
