I had always been the heaviest kid in my class. One day, I was sitting in the shade while my classmates played tag, and to keep comfortable in the heat, I’d hiked my skirt up to my underwear. A group of girls were looking over at me, giggling. One broke away from the pack and walked over.
“Like, what happened to your legs?” she said, clearly on a dare. I looked down. The marks on my inner thighs were dark red. It looked like I’d been attacked with a cheese grater. I didn’t know what to say, so I told the truth.
“My mom said they’re stretch marks,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.
“GROSS!” she said, and ran away, screeching. The other kids laughed.
I was the only second-grader with breasts, and suddenly the only kid in the whole school with stretch marks.