There was an outburst of laughter. Even I knew I didn’t look pretty. My eyes prickled with tears. Hold them back, I told myself, pretend you don’t care. But of course I did care. I cared terribly. As a twelve-year-old, my need to camouflage myself by belonging was at its most pressing. I didn’t want to stand out. I wasn’t sure enough of myself yet to risk forming a new teenage identity of my own and until I figured that out, I simply wanted to be one of them.
