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“That’s a low blow. I work my ass off to provide for our family.”

“I work too! I’ve built that flower shop from the ground up. You have no idea about the stress of owning your own business. I only wish I could fly all over the world like you get to.”

“You act like I’m on vacation.”

“You pretty much are while I’m stuck here. I never get a break, unlike you.”

They continue to sling their words back and forth, each jab fueling the next. They don’t even notice when I turn and stomp up the stairs.

Slamming my bedroom door behind me, I toss my backpack onto the floor and pull out my cell phone. I sit at my desk, lean back in my chair, and text my brother.

Me: Please tell me you’re coming home for spring break.

Tyler is four years older than I am and away at college on the east coast. Lucky him for getting out of here. When he told me he was going to college in North Carolina, I was upset. I had hoped he would go to school somewhere around here. The last thing I wanted was to be left here alone. Not that we are incredibly close or anything like that. To him, I’m probably just his annoying little sister. But to me, he’s someone who I can actually talk to—more like complain to.

Tyler: Sorry. I’m actually going down to Florida with a few friends.

Me: Dad just got home and the two of them are already fighting. I wish I could go to Florida with you.

Tyler: You only have one year left. Have you started thinking about what colleges you want to apply to?

Me: Yeah. Ones that are far away from Mom.

Tyler: Try to go easy on her. You know she just worries about you. We all do.

I hate when they say that. I hate that they all know what I did when they have the privilege of hiding their deepest secrets. It makes me feel weird—abnormal. As if I’m some poor, pitiful girl who can’t take care of herself.

Me: That’s so annoying. You guys act as if I’m broken, but I’m not.

It’s a lie.

The thing is that I often find myself trying to pinpoint the moment in my life that broke me, but I’m beginning to think that I was born broken. It would be so much easier if there were an event that caused the fracture. At least then I could have something tangible to work through, to mend the pieces and get better.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t exist for me.

HARLOW

The bell rings, and I groan, miffed that I’m being forced to eat lunch in the cafeteria today. I typically hide in the photo lab where the newspaper staff meets, but Mr. Duncan had to leave school early, and he locked the room.

Taking my time, I shove my laptop into my backpack while the other students flee the class. As I drag my feet through the halls, I consider spending my lunch in the library, but my stomach has been grumbling for the past hour. Apparently, the candy bar I got from the vending machine earlier wasn’t enough to fill me up.

I stop short of the entrance to the cafeteria and stare in. Loud voices fill the space. The jocks are at one table, the emos at another, and the stoners are in the corner. Each clique has their designated spot, leaving a few tables scattered about for the loners like me.

I’ve known most of these kids since elementary school. Back then, I wasn’t the outcast I am now. There was a time when I used to be friends with most of them, but then middle school hit. Everyone began branching off into their small cliques. At the time, it was Emily, Kassi, me, and a few other girls.

Around eighth grade, things started to change. I can’t say exactly what, but, slowly, I felt myself drifting from them. Not intentionally. It isn’t as if they ever did anything wrong; it kind of just happened. My friends that once felt like sisters to me eventually became the girls I could no longer relate to. It was as if some unexplainable force picked me up and dropped me down in the middle of nowhere, and ever since, I haven’t been able to find my way back.

Then high school came and image was everything. Emily, the free-spirit who I used to have sleepovers with, became obsessed with her social standing. Fitting in and being popular was her biggest concern while I was simply lost.

I’ve spent the better part of these past few years trying to figure out where my old self went. I haven’t seen her in a very long time, so long that I forgot how it even feels to be her—to beme.

Rumors started to spread when I was gone last semester. Since after Christmas break, I’ve become privy to the gossip that was circulating about why I had vanished for the first half of junior year. Pretty much the consensus was that I got knocked up and went away to have the baby in secret.

So, not only am I freak, but now a slut. Little do they know, I’ve never even kissed a boy, except for that one time when Alex, who now sits at the emo table, kissed me under the monkey bars in fifth grade. Apart from that, I doubt I’ve ever been on any guy’s radar. Not that I’m unfortunate in the looks department. At least I don’t think I am, but it doesn’t matter how pretty you are, it only matters how popular you are.

I resign a heavy breath as I stroll in, hoping to go unnoticed, and head straight to the snack bar to grab a bag of chips and a soda before making my way over to the loser’s table. Out of nowhere, a package of M&Ms flies through the air and nearly sideswipes my face, but I duck in time to dodge the impact.

“Watch out, Cricket,” Sebastian barks from the table to my right.