When I was 7, my younger sister and I switched schools. My teacher, Mrs. Turner, was an old white lady who dyed her hair platinum blonde (a big deal in the late 80’s) and wore thick, luxurious fur coats at the first hint of fall. I thought the school would be amazing. Maybe that was because the first time I walked into the building, it was my birthday, and that had led to everyone serenading me at the assembly where students’ names were called to split off into their assigned classes.
Hindsight is 2020. I should have realized that the birthday song did not equal my immediate popularity, but I didn’t. I was feeling brave at lunch hour, when we were all told to pick our spots for the year. More than anything, I wanted to sit with April and Jacinda, whom I’d become obsessed with over the course of a single morning recess. April had straight brown hair and a long, hauty face. Jacinda had silky jet black hair and beautiful green eyes. They were 9. I was 7. Sitting beside them would lead to…
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