Junior high is when I really noticed the stark difference between Palmer and me. My mom took a picture of us on the bus with our matching puffy paint T-shirts we made for the first day of school that read “Grown Girls,” because everyone knows at twelve years old, you’re totally equipped and ready to take on the world. I was so excited for Mom to get that picture developed. But the day she brought it home, my whole world changed. I ignored our big smiles and the bright-pink T-shirts we spent hours making for the first day of school. All I could see was how much thicker my arms and thighs were
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