Chapter 4

I really shouldn’t be so sarcastic about him; he’s not all that bad, but I wasn’t in any kind of mood for a ‘blame the victim’ manner or any other type of casual brushoff. I hadn’t even cried before he showed up, and I didn’t bother after either. Good thing my mom didn’t come or I might have turned about six years old again and bawled my eyes out. I was, frankly, scared and angry as well as hurt and embarrassed.

I’d never been really popular in school, but after that, there was like a smear campaign and everyone started laughing or flapping their wrists at me whenever I was around. The sprained wrist thing seemed especially amusing to some people, and I heard the term ‘fag’ tossed about in relation to me all the time now. The joke wasn’t funny, for though they’d flap their own suddenly limp wrists and laugh, mine was still taped up and painful. I couldn’t have flapped it if I wanted to.