Stained Read Free

skin like slivers of metal. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself I should be used to it; it still hurts.
    I try to slip into Diamond’s persona, the way I imagine her—walking tall, confident, and proud—but I can’t do it.
    The giggling gets louder. I raise my head and steadily look at each kid who’s laughing. One by one they turn away. Mom would tell me to stop showing them how much it bothers me and they’ll get tired of “teasing” me. But it’s been years, and they haven’t tired of it yet.
    â€œSarah! Hey, Sarah!” Madison calls shrilly.
    I tense. I shouldn’t respond, not after the degrading picture she posted of me online. I can still see that horrible, doctored photo—pus oozing out of the purple stain on my face, flies crawling over my skin. And in big, bold letters: “Why doesn’t she just get plastic surgery?” More than thirty students left nasty comments about my cheek, probably because they were scared she’d turn on them next, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.
    Madison calls again, insistently. I know she’ll only get louder if I keep ignoring her. I look at her, careful to keep my bad side turned away.
    â€œGot any makeup tips?” she calls. “Like how to hide facial defects? Or maybe your entire face?” The girls around her titter.
    I watch her steadily, not flinching, and she turns away.
    Madison is pretty—at least a seven. Pretty enough to grab boys’ attention. But only a few years ago she had braces, rampant acne, and was twice her current weight. I don’t understand how she can act like this—not when she knows what it’s like to be laughed at. But maybe that’s the point. She doesn’t want people to remember the way they used to treat her; she’s one of the Beautiful People now.
    I walk past her. Gemma nods at me, her short, nubby black hair exposing her scalp to the cold. I nod back but don’t stop to talk, even though she seems nice. The resident lesbian and the girl with the purple face would make for great gossip.
    â€œHey, Sarah,” Nick says, edging up beside me.
    â€œNick,” I say resignedly. Nick is almost as much of a social outcast as I am. He has thick glasses; a soft-around-the-edges, plump body; an insatiable interest in comics, computers, and role-playing games, and not enough awareness to not talk about it to anyone who will listen. In other words, a geek. And today he’s wearing his puffy silver coat that makes him look like a shiny blimp.
    â€œThanks for the loan.” Nick pulls a graphic novel out of his backpack.
Daniel X.
I lent it to him last week—at the comic shop. I didn’t expect him to give it back to me so publicly.
    I can just imagine the post Madison will do about this. I reluctantly take the book from him and stuff it in my bag. “Did you like it?”
    Nick nods, his glasses bobbing up and down on his nose. “It was amazing.”
    â€œI thought you’d enjoy it.” There’s so much in it we can both relate to. Feeling alone. Being alone. Wishing we had superpowers to change our world.
    Nick pulls another graphic novel out of his bag, and a bunch of markers spill out onto the slush. His face reddens as he bends down to pick them up. “Try this one,” he says as he straightens and hands me the novel.
    Ghostopolis.
I haven’t read it yet, but the cover intrigues me.
    Behind me, I hear another burst of giggles. I know it’s about me and Nick. Purple stain and doughboy. They don’t care that he’s kind, smart, and good-natured, and sort of cute in a soft, chubby way, with messy, sandy hair that’s always falling into his eyes and a quick smile. All they see is his weight and his social awkwardness, just like they only see my face and how alone I am. I glance back at Madison and see her snapping pictures of us with her cell. I yank my hand back.