She braced both legs then grunted with the stress of stretching for the next handhold. “But she deserved it.”

“Who deserved what?” Linda stared down at her in concern.

“Tell you later.”

“Climbing takes glutes,” Linda volunteered. “So you’ve got ’em.”

Marissa realized everyone below her was looking at her butt. Prime view of the cottage cheese thighs too. It wasn’t fair, having to do this. It wasn’t fair being stared at, evaluated and always found physically inadequate.

Oh, please, she chided herself. Don’t whine about being chosen last for sides in basketball. You can’t be a cliché. Besides, when the staring started it wasn’t because you were inadequate.

“You got milk in those jugs?”

She’d gazed at Ricky Skilecky without understanding. His snicker, quickly joined by those of his traveling pack of ferret companions, brought a blush nevertheless. It had to be about sex but she didn’t get it. She didn’t know which was worse, not getting it or how she’d feel when she finally did.

“Milk’s good for us, ’Rissa. C’mon, give us a taste.”

The pack made smooching-sucking noises and that was when she got it. She turned on her heel, books clutched across her chest. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t asked for them to grow. They just did.

Boobs mashed hard against the cliff face, Marissa felt the punch of that old familiar resentment. She didn’t hate them any longer, but for the middle and high school years she’d loathed her bust. They’d ruined her slow pitch and left her feeling graceless. Every catcall, lewd gesture and rude remark had been like a slap. She hadn’t been able to walk down a hallway without some boy saying something crude, that is, until she was a sophomore in high school and some of the other girls had finally caught up. They finally grew breasts too—those pretty, conventional girls who didn’t like math or computers and thought everything boys did was cool.

Her arms were screaming for relief. There were only two more handholds left to go but the light made it hard to see them and gauge the distance. She knew if she fell now she’d break something and die because there was no doctor up there nor some genius who would figure out how to give her blood transfusions with a ballpoint pen.

“That’s right,” Linda crooned. “You’re doing fantastic. Nearly here. One more and I can help. Fabulous, just one more.”

“Just one more cookie, Mom, come on.” Marissa eyed the perfect oatmeal chocolate chip rounds and reached for the closest.

Her mother slapped her hand back. “Your waistline is bigger than your bust these days. You look sloppy enough. How are you going to get a date for the prom looking like that?”

“Who said I wanted to go?”

“Of course you want to go.” Her mother shook the rest of the cookies into the storage jar. “You’re not a real girl if you don’t.”

Marissa wondered if her mother suspected she wasn’t a real girl. She didn’t like the things other girls liked—the most important of which was boys. She didn’t like boys. That didn’t make her gay like dad, she told herself.