I deflate and stare at my half-eaten food with a pout. From my periphery, Jaxon goes back to shoveling his food, sometimes taking a bite of it and taking his time chewing it.
My stress over Jaxon going into my room and burning things comes back tenfold. I peek at Mom, hoping she’ll answer me. Like all the other times, she doesn’t. Taking a deep breath, I push back my chair and stand. I count in my head as I leave the room, hoping Mom won’t yell at me for leaving the table without being excused. When the coast is clear, I bolt up the stairs and into my room.
I check all my dolls, clothes, bows, and shoes. Everything’s still in its place, and nothing seems amiss. I breathe a sigh of relief, but the worry still clings to me like all the bad dreams I get every night.
I hate my brother. I hate how he makes me feel. All I want is for us to be friends, and I had to ruin it by being annoying and weird. I lie on my mattress and roll onto my side, staring at the window. The curtains hang aside, giving me a clear view of the trees and mountains.
I can’t wait to leave this place when I graduate from high school. The day I’ll move far away, live on my own, and be happy can’t come fast enough.
Movement darts in the corner of my eye, and I swing mygaze toward it. Nothing. I look at the window, and a shadow moves in the corner of my eye again. When I look, I still see nothing. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my breathing.
Everything will be fine. It’s only a few more years before I’m out of here.
“Watch it.” A girl shoves past me, her shoulder bumping into mine. Her friends flock around her, snickering.
I stumble from the force and catch myself before I fall face first onto the floor of my new school’s hallway. The girl smirks and giggles with her friends as they walk away.
I squeeze my binder and books closer to my chest and check my surroundings for anyone who caught what happened. A few boys stand on the other side of the hallway, chuckling and talking with each other while they keep looking in my direction.
I duck my head, then power walk to my assigned locker down the hall. It takes me a minute to figure out the code, but eventually, the lock snaps open. I stuff my things into the small space and jump at a loud bang behind me. Spinning toward it, I face a grinning boy.
He looks a year older than me, and his smile exposes a missing front tooth and creates a dimple on his chubby leftcheek. Freckles dot his cheeks and nose. I find them kind of cute.
There’s another bang behind me, and when I check, there’s a boy about the same age standing there. He has spiky brown hair that’s been iced at the tips with blonde highlights.
“You’re the new kid, aren’t you?” he says with a grin.
My heart jump-starts, and I nod, a shy smile lifting my lips. I warily eye the boys and hope this isn’t some cruel joke.
“What’s your name?” his friend behind me asks.
I face him. “Dahlia. What’s yours?”
“Mickey.” He holds his hand out for me to take.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. Hope fills my chest, and all these ideas of hanging out with my new friends flash through my mind. I slide my palm into his and shake his hand.
“Like Mickey Mouse,” I say with a giggle.
Mickey’s eyebrows bunch together, and he yanks his hand from mine. His friend snickers beneath his breath behind me. I steal a quick look at him, and my face falls. My giddiness and excitement vanish as though someone poured ice water over my head.
“What are you, five?” Mickey snarls while his friend still laughs like I’d just cracked a joke.
I shake my head. “No, I’m eleven.”
His friend snorts in his laugh, and I hold back my smile because it reminds me of a pig. “She’s so stupid! Her head is full of rocks.”
“Yeah,” Mickey says, nodding. He gives me a mocking look. “Kyle’s right, rocks. Do you even know what sarcasm is?”
The little humor I had disappears, and a lump forms in my throat as my world comes crashing down.Why am I the way I am?I had to open my mouth and say something stupid.
I stand frozen in place, unable to say anything. What isthere to say? Nothing. Just like the last school, fighting back will get me nowhere. It always ends with me being picked on even more, and then the rumors spread about me. It’s not like I can go to Mom about this because, like all the other times, she won’t care.
My breathing quickens as my gaze dances between the two boys. They throw insults at me, each one getting worse than the last. They call me stupid, and when I don’t react, they insult my looks.
Nothing they say surprises me. It still hurts to hear it, but if I tell myself those things enough times, then I’ll become numb to it one day.
They point at my chest, making fun of my small breasts and how I have “mosquito bites.” Mom hasn’t gotten me any training bras, so my aching and growing chest pokes through my shirt and looks weird. Then they make fun of my eyebrows, saying they’re bushy. Then my nose, chin, chipped tooth, and everything else.
