The bell for recess finally rang after four periods of exhausted hell, and I dragged my feet to the cafeteria. Today I was too damn tired to care if anyone saw me eating—I needed sustenance right now. I needed a high-caffeine, high-sugar rush that would wake me up enough for the rest of the day. Heading to the cafeteria, I caught sight of Thembi out of the corner of my eye and ducked behind a pillar. I didn’t want to see her. I could imagine what she was saying to the others today.

You won’t believe it, but Lori came to the shop and tried on a dress that made her look like a fat whore.

Fat whore. Why do those words even go together? Someone had scribbled that on my locker once and I couldn’t understand it. Just because I’m fat, I’m automatically a whore?? How does me being fat make me a whore? How did fat become such an offensive thing to others when I’m the one carrying it, not you?

I kept my head low as I joined the cafeteria line. Thembi and the Ts were sitting all the way at the other end of the room, and at the table next to them, Jake and the water polo gang. Some of them still looked like they were nursing a hangover. But as I stood in the line I overheard a snippet of conversation that made my ears prick up.

“. . . right across the road from the Champagne Bar . . .”

“. . . saw it on Twitter . . .”

“. . . I don’t know, some flowers or something . . .”

I broke away from the line, pulled my phone out, and started searching. It didn’t take long to find it . . . my art. I found it on the class WhatsApp group—someone had posted it while driving past. Then I found it on a local Facebook group I’d joined when I’d arrived, Clifton Residents. Someone had posted it there and then others had shared it. I followed some of the shares and landed on Twitter, where it was being discussed. Some local, online news sites and a few blogs had even picked up on it. I turned around and power marched to the bathroom, where I closed myself in a cubicle so I could look through it all in peace. I clicked on the news article and started reading.

This morning residents of Clifton were greeted with an artwork that seems to have appeared overnight. The mystery artist took it upon themselves to use a pothole and crack in the pavement—which the residents have been complaining about for months—to paint an elaborate floral scene with the words “I am beautiful” written across the road, breathing life into the once considered unsightly blemish.