Silence hung for a moment, then another girl rolled her eyes: “Relax! Nobody asked for the sob story!”
I felt 11 again, hearing “She’s the janitor’s daughter… he washes our toilets!” I sat near the edge of the room, breathing slowly, refusing to break in front of them. Then someone shouted that my dress was “disgusting.” My eyes filled.
Just then, the music cut off. The principal, Mr. Bradley, stood at the center with a microphone.
“Before we continue,” he said, “there’s something important I need to say.”
The room fell silent.
