She slapped the door shut with the sound of a shot gun. I fumbled, and my math homework fluttered to the ground. I wanted to shout, but looking up, I saw her eyes- a painful red, and wet.
"What's wrong?"
She held up a single paper in response, an English assignment. In the center of her words, circled in red pen, the grade "F" jumped off the page.
Her bag dropped. She let herself fall into the chair beside me, sniffing. "Nobody got an 'F'," she said. "Nobody but me. I'm stupid. And I'm fat. I'm ugly, and I'm so, so . . . stupid."
Her voice faltered on the last word, as if it had blown away in the wind. I knew why it hurt. In a family like hers, the last word would especially hurt. Her ingers shook as she rubbed the "F" between her fingers. Exhibit A.
"Please don't say that," I said, my mind reeling with health class self-esteem pep talks and my parent's lectures. "I like that girl you're talking about."
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