She sits. Alone.
They stop next to her.
Laugh at her hair, her clothes, her face. They laugh at her.
She wants to be them. She wants their straight blonde hair. Their big blue eyes. Their designer jeans. Their empty heads. Their pretty faces. Their perfect bodies.
She doesn’t want to be herself. She doesn’t want her curly brown hair. Her black glasses. Her plain brown skirt. Her straight A’s. Her pimply cheeks. Her chubby figure.
She had been invited to their sleepover once.
She was excited.
The popular girls? Wanted her to come to their sleepover? She was elated.
She came home with glue in her hair and a Sharpie-d mustache on her face.
She came home with ugly gossip in her head and tears in her eyes.
Those tears come again. Now, as they stand over her, they wait for those tears to fall.
She looks down. At her simple skirt. At her knobby knees.
She prays. She doesn’t want the tears to fall.
She knows what will happen if her tears fall.
They will win.
They will have the power, the control.
It has happened countless times.
They want it to happen again. They know it will happen. Now.
But, she will not let it happen.
She stands.
Looks at them.
In the eyes.
They stare back, confused. But, they refuse to show this.
Her tears are gone.
They have been replaced.
With anger. With revenge.
With hate.
She starts talking. Screaming. Yelling words she has never said before.
All the anger, which has been pent up for so long, floods out. Faster and faster.
Suddenly she stops.
They stare.
Shocked. Horrified.
Amazed.
She feels better. Much better.
She smiles.
She no longer wants to be the pretty, painted, and petrified faces around her. She likes her own face a lot more.
She dusts off her brown skirt, runs her hand through her wild hair.
She pities their perfect-ness. The entertainment they find through tormenting others.
She realizes that they are hopelessly dependent on her.
She has egged them on. Her tears have fed their desire.
She makes a promise to herself.
She will never be a slave to them again.
She will never be a slave to anyone.
She is free.
She is herself.
She is who she wants to be.
And no one can stop her.
Ever.
She turns and walks away.