sunshine. eleven.

My name isn't actually Sunshine. I've just been called that since I was a baby. Legally it's Rye, Rye Brooks, but I only get called that on the first day of school. Everyone calls me Sunshine, even the teachers once I remind them. Sunshine Brooks has a nicer ring to it, Dad says. You can't help but smile when you say it. Even when the kids at school say I'm called Sunshine because my head is bigger than the sun itself year after year, I just smile. I might cry a little in the toilet stall when no-one is listening, but Dad says its better to being positive energy to people like that. That they're probably hurting more than I realise, that they're jealous of me, so they want to bring me down to their level. That I should be proud of my head and my long blonde hair, that I look just like Mom, that it's a beautiful head with a big ol' brain ready for learning. That smiling in a place like Eleven can do so much for some people, that I might make their day, even if I don't realise it. That makes sense and all, but I can't help but yearn for a version of myself that could fight back. Being a pacifist is easy, but I wish I had the strength to tell them how I really feel. But I don't, so I just cry a little and keep smiling. Sunshine Brooks - all warmth, no fire.