Yet one reunion invitation had dragged me straight back into those hallways.
Back to the girl with braces, frizzy hair, and skin that seemed determined to betray her every morning.
Back to the girl everyone noticed for the wrong reasons.
The jokes started in middle school.
The nicknames followed me until graduation.
Some people laughed openly.
Others joined in quietly because it was easier than becoming the next target.
Madison, Ashley, and Brielle were the worst.
They were beautiful, popular, and fully aware of the power they held.
When I came home crying, my mother always sat beside me and brushed my hair back from my face.
“One day,” she would say, “you’ll see yourself the way I see you.”
I never believed her.
