She’d noticed that it was the girls in class who chose to work with clay, but it seemed to Mitty that beneath that pattern, there was a darker truth. While the boys felt confident adding to their own creations, the girls were only ever carving away at theirs. This constant process of subtraction until every curve was smooth and wet, the scrap pile tossed into the trash, the little figurine delivered into a hot tomb to bake, all of her perfections preserved.
