My silver hair flops down onto my shoulders. Where's it gone now?
"Maple!" My little sister yells at me, "The tennis ball rolled to the edge of the forest or something."
"Why don't you go get it?" I ask back.
"I did it last time!" She shouts in reply. I sigh, pick up my pace and climb over the fence at the back of our big garden. The clouds look grey enough to swallow the sky, and I feel a feather of rain on my right ankle. I reach the edge of the forest, lie down on my front and look for the ball. Nope, not here. I walk further in. Why, you may ask, am I searching so much for just on tennis ball? Answer, my mum would kill me if we lose anymore. We go through around 20 tennis balls per week. Neither me nor my sister are good at tennis, so the ball goes flying everywhere. It starts to drizzle, but the further into the forest I walk, the denser the trees are, which protects me from the rain. My very light grey eyes scan the floor of the forest, I spot a bit of light green on the floor. Yes! I pick the ball up, brushing down the small damp leaves that cling onto it. Then I turn around to go back.
But every tree looks the same.
Where did I come from?
The gaps between the trees are too small to see anything outside it.
Then I realised, this forest is the one that Kathy Howard got murdered in.
Despite the cold wind blowing around me, a trail of sweat runs down my head.