Guys offered him chin lifts and fist bumps, while girls gave him shy smiles or come-hither stares. Everyone seemed to know his name. Then their gazes would shift to me in puzzlement. I didn’t blame them. I didn’t fit. Not in my favorite worn T-shirt that read, If life gives you mold, make Penicillin, and my scuffed-up Vans. I cringed.
