She’d downed half a carton of milk by the time he joined her at the table. “Doesn’t look like punch to me,” said Free. “Hardy-har-har,” said Dyamonde. “Like your poem was so much better.” “You watch!” said Free. “I’m gonna win that thing.” “Yeah, sure,” said Dyamonde. Just then, she noticed Damaris sitting two tables away. She wasn’t eating, though. Instead, she was reading a book. She does that a lot, thought Dyamonde. In fact, I hardly ever see her eat. Is she on a special diet or something? “Hello?” said Free. “Earth to Dy. Is anybody listening?” “Huh? Sorry,” said Dyamonde. “Do you know anything about her?” “About who?” asked Free. “Damaris Dancer,” said Dyamonde. “Nope,” said Free. “Why?” “Just wondering,” said Dyamonde. “You know, she signed up for the contest. She might be good at writing poems. Her name kinda sounds like poetry.” “So what?” said Free. “Nobody’s gonna win that contest except for me. There, you see?
