The bridge is built from a single plank, thin and unstable. At one end, she stands, clutching the message to her chest: dinner is at six. Come if you want. If her cousins are on the opposite side, they’ll shake it until she falls. It has happened before. So far, they are not there. She lowers herself to the plank, and lets her legs dangle over it. She grips the sides, splinter digs into her palm, and slowly, she inches across. The bridge beneath her bum begins to tremble.