Surviving High School

began to take photos of random people eating. He was taller than she remembered. Maybe he’d grown over the summer. Worst of all was that he looked almost cute: The gash on his face had healed, leaving only the slightest hint of a scar. Yet another injustice: The boy responsible for her sister’s death was left with barely a mark himself.
    “… I guess Ben’s got ‘issues’ or something.…”
    Despite his new height, Nick probably weighed the same now as he had then. He’d become painfully skinny, almost skeletal. His black T-shirt hung loose against his arms and chest, and his skinny hipster jeans looked like they were made for some too-thin fashion model. His arms strained against his massive camera, a huge Nikon with a telephoto lens and a thick strap that ran around his neck.
    “… would still totally let him take me to homecoming…”
    Nick approached a group of students, who looked up at him, confused.
    “Yearbook candids,” he said, and the tableful of people all swarmed to be in front of the camera, some smiling, others making stupid faces or V s with their fingers. Click. The flash went off, and Nick walked over to another group.
    Emily turned away so that he wouldn’t see her face as he got closer. She sat frozen in place. It was too late now. He’d see her if she stood. How could she have been so stupid, sittinghere in the middle of the cafeteria just so she could listen in on some dumb story about a party?
    Would Sara have sat here at lunch like this, listening to gossip? Of course not. Sara was the Machine. She would have been in the weight room working on her leg strength or hunched over her homework, getting an early start so she’d have more time to sleep later. And now Sara couldn’t do any of those things. Because of him.
    “Yearbook,” said Nick as he arrived at Dominique and Lindsay’s table. Emily didn’t dare look over at them, but she could imagine them leaning up against each other, smiling evilly. The camera clicked, and the flash caught the corner of Emily’s eye. She heard footsteps. Someone was approaching her from behind.
    “Yearbook,” he said. Emily didn’t turn. She felt him standing behind her. There would be no escape now. The hairs on her arms rose, and her heart began to beat double time. The light from the windows pulsed in and out with each rapid breath she took. She sat paralyzed.
    “Yearbook,” he repeated.
    She turned her head ever so slightly so that she could look at him out of the corner of her eye. When he saw her profile, the blood seemed to drain out of Nick’s face.
    “—Sara?”
    Emily steeled her jaw, grabbed her backpack, and walked away as fast as she could, leaving her food on the table. Hearing her sister’s name in itself was enough to make her want to cry—but hearing it from him ? She felt his eyes burningthrough her back as she walked. All she wanted was to make it to the girls’ room before she started crying.
    By the time school ended, Emily was mostly recovered from the drama earlier that day. Still, she was in no mood to endure further stress, and she rushed to the locker room as she usually did, hoping to beat the other girls there and change before they arrived.
    Throughout her elementary school swim practices, Emily had seen nothing odd about stripping naked around her teammates. She’d viewed her body as a vehicle built for motion: the twin engines of her arms and legs, the drag-resistant slope of her shoulders.
    Then in seventh grade she’d sprouted breasts, and everything had changed. Suddenly, the machine of her body carried two useless lumps, slowing her times and getting in the way of her arms—and she’d become instantly shy about stripping down in front of the other girls.
    She’d started changing in bathroom stalls until Dominique caught on and began speculating that she was hiding something: “I’m not saying anything, but don’t you think Emily kind of looks like a guy?” Finally, Emily forced herself back into the locker room, and although the rumors of a secret Y chromosome subsided, a new set of insults emerged.
    Dominique always seemed to notice Emily’s “deformities” first. She’d glance over at Emily as she was changing and deliver her observations as either backhanded compliments or annoying questions.
    “It’s awesome that your hips are so small. That probably decreases your drag through the water.”
    “You’re lucky your feet are so huge. They’re almost like flippers or