« Eva, why are you holding that sweater? »
« Hotels are cold. »
« Baby, hotels have heat. »
« It’s practical. »
My phone rang before I could put it on.
« No, » she said softly. « It’s hiding. »
I looked away.
I was twenty-eight. I had a life in Chicago, a career I was proud of, and friends who didn’t treat kindness like weakness. But one reunion invite had pulled me right back into high school.
Back then, I was the girl everyone noticed for the wrong reasons.
I had braces, bad skin, and frizzy hair with its own plans. The jokes started in middle school and followed me until graduation. Some people gave me nicknames, and others laughed when I answered questions in class.
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