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Back Scars Like Wings Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. Acknowledgments
  54. About the Author
  55. What’s next onyour reading list?

I sneak a sideways glance in his direction. His eyes are on his paper now, allowing me to see he’s a small kid with warm brown skin. The black curtain of his hair flips up, and his dark eyes meet mine before I can turn away. He gives me a thumbs-up, and I’m not sure if he means it as a cruel joke or some outdated symbol of camaraderie.

I flick my eyes away.

I tick through the normal reactions: Shameless staring? Not really. Not in a gawking, don’t-tap-on-the-glass kind of way. He’s borderline frantic friendliness with his excitement over my toe-hand, but that’s still not it. Not pity. Definitely not like I’m invisible.

I scribble in the corner of my notebook, trying to label this boy’s reaction.

Nosy

Curious

Clueless curiosity

The boy waves at me like we’re old friends when the bell rings, so I shoot him my best “What’s your problem?” stare. He smiles back. Clueless it is.

This kid has no clue how he’s supposed to act around me. Because no matter what reaction people have, there is always one common thread:

  1. Everyone looks at me.
  2. Then everyone looks away.

Until now.

5

I employ my best covert-ops tactics to make it through the rest of the day. I skulk along locker walls, looking down at my phone, pretending to be super interested in the texts Cora sends every thirty minutes to make sure I’m okay. In each class, I retreat to the back row and basically try to dissolve into Crossroads High.

When I walk past the gym and see the girls in shorts, I’m extra grateful Cora negotiated my way out of phys ed so a coach with a whistle and the power to make my life miserable can’t make me “suit up.” My compression garments don’t really make me a candidate for running/jumping/throwing, plus there’s the whole my-sweat-glands-burned-off thing. But mostly, there is absolutely no way I’m going to disrobe in a locker room full of high school girls whose big body-image issues include whether their boobs and thigh dimples are the right size.

Luckily, even though it’s the middle of the semester, I’m not too lost in my classes since I’ve been working at least a year ahead online.