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La Última Palabra
Página 8
But
the
poem
wouldn't
leave
her
alone.
It
scratched
in
her
backpack.
It
sang
in
the
back
of
her
mind.
Late
one
night,
Maya
crawled
out
of
bed.
She
sat
with
her
legs
crossed
on
the
floor
of
her
room.
She
read
the
poem
out
loud.
At
first,
her
voice
was
a
whisper.
Then
a
little
louder.
Halfway
through,
her
throat
caught.
She
sat
there,
crying
quietly
in
the
dark.
Not
because
she
was
scared,
but
because
she
had
been
holding
so
many
feelings
inside.
She
missed
her
Dad.
She
missed
feeling
brave.
She
finished
the
poem.
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La Última Palabra — C1 Inglés | Cuentana