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.
I was the girl everyone noticed for the wrong reasons.
Madison, Ashley, and Brielle were the worst of them.
Only Mom never let me believe them.
Whenever I came home crying, she’d sit beside me and say, “One day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you.”
I’d always huff in return.
Then she’d add, “And one day, everyone else will too.”
I used to think she said it because she had to.
“One day, you’ll see yourself the way I see you.”
Now I wasn’t sure.
“What if they still see me as her?” I asked.
Mom’s face softened. “Eva, that girl deserved kindness too.”
My throat tightened.
She pointed at the screen. “Put the cardigan down.”
“Mom.”
“Put it down.”
“Eva, that girl deserved kindness too.”
I dropped it on the bed.
“That dress isn’t too much, honey,” she said. “It’s exactly enough.”
“I almost threw the invitation away.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you tell me to go?”
“Because every time you talked about that school, you sounded like you were still standing in the hallway.”
“I almost threw the invitation away.”
I didn’t answer.
“You’re not going there to impress them,” Mom said. “You’re going there to prove you can walk into that room and still breathe.”
“And if Madison is there?”
“Then breathe louder. Take up space, my darling.”
I laughed, even though my eyes burned.
“Take up space, my darling.”
I left the cardigan on the bed.
Then I came back, folded it, and put it in my bag.
Ten years of fear didn’t vanish because of one red dress.
***
