As I stroll, I see two boys coming toward me. One of them ilooks iat me. I look away, too shy to meet anybody's eye. Does he think I'm pretty? Does he like my clothes? I look up and his eyes are in mine and mine flee. Yeah, that's it. He must think I'm cute. He must like my eyes. They pass by me and I feel his breeze tingling my skin. His smell embraces me from head to toe. Maybe I could be his friend, maybe. As I turn the corner, I stop to catch a better view of him. He is chuckling, "Did you see that chick? I finally figured out it was a she and not a he."

My eyes fall to my feet. "Yeah," his friend responds. "Did you see her clothes? Where does she think she is, back in China? Stupid Oriental."

Hurt, I turn back with tears welling in my eyes. No one will accept me the way I am. My wide face, my short legs. My weird clothes. My straight black hair. No, it must be the killer eyes. n