" ... They started to run when they heard the sirens but the pigs caught up. All they were doing was having a little party. They got nabbed for underage drinking or something. And now they might be kicked off the squad! How totally unfair!"

"What would we do? We can't go to States without our head cheerleader. They better not get in trouble. Why does the school care anyway?"

"Something about school image or something. It's so ..."

As I step out of the stall, the busybodies' conversation halts abruptly and lethal stares are aimed in my direction. Subserviently I drop my head, studying my sneakered feet. "I ... I wasn't listening to you ... I was just ..."

My words trail off, and I hear a snicker. Raising my head sharply, I see the accompanying smirks teamed with rolling eyes. "Sure, whatever," the plaid-clad gossip-monger utters. I quickly avert my eyes, imaging the head of donkey in place of her own empty shell of hair-sprayed perfection.

When I can hear the clicking of their heels exiting, I look up. Lip-shaped splotches of pigmented fat adorn the looking glass of the bathroom, adding foreign kisses to my pale skin. Scanning my lanky blond hair and grimacing lips with bespectacled sight, I fail to see rationalization for their sudden departure.

I wasn't the monster, that was for sure. 1