I wanted to be you and I wanted to get as far away as possible away from you. In 7th grade you called me a baby, knowing that the word would shoot straight into my soul leaving me shattered into a million pieces of shameful skipped-a-grade not-quite puberty. You knew my vulnerabilities and you used them to wound me over and over, but I couldn’t stay away. In 8th grade you were my 5th period best pal only because acting like you liked me kept you safe from the 2nd chair flute who would never challenge her 1st chair friend.
[UPDATE: Edited to add that clearly I am not talking about this Karen Stasko. My apologies to anyone who thought I might have been.]