Scarred by fate
I’m just the pint-sized hanger-on, trying not to get trampled by the human stampede that always seems to form around these two.
As we walk to our lockers, I notice her. A girl. She’s headed straight for us like she owns the place. She’s tall—well, taller than me, which isn’t exactly an achievement—but she’s got to be around 5’7” with a figure that screams gym membership and good genetics. She’s got boobs, hips, and a slim waist, all perfectly proportioned. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with my twelve-year-old-boy build and a hope that maybe one day I’ll grow up too. Her long chocolate-brown hair falls in perfect waves down her back, and her face? Flawless. Slim nose, high cheekbones, deep brown eyes
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