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would have to learn to accept it.
    So I went to formal with James. I bought the most expensive dress I could find, and shoes to match. It was the one time I wanted to feel worthy.
    I made my grand entrance with no fan fare, except the excited giggles of a few friends, who looked fantastic in their taffeta dressed, with poofy princess shoulders that clearly marked our 90's high school days.
    I waited for James, and wandered over to the punch bowl. After 20 minutes, he still hadn't walked through the doors. This dress was squeezing me to death, and my heels already hurt my feet. Where was he?
    I wandered out of the gym, ignoring snooty Mrs. Alan's shout that students had to remain here. I walked the quiet dark halls, eerily silent without students crammed against lockers and teachers calling for order. I heard some familiar giggling near the cafeteria.
    "Oh, stop it!"
    Rachel?
    I rounded the corner, my heart beating so loud my head was starting to pound.
    There was Rachel, pushed up against the lockers. James was kissing her how he had kissed me just a few days ago, and his hand was up her shirt.
    I shuddered, remembering of the feeling him inside me. Recalling the vivid details that I had given my all...
    And she was making no effort to stop him... and she... was enjoying it.
    With my... well, what were we? Had we just fucked? Was I an opportune moment of practice, a release for his sexual energies? Did my life lack so much meaning?
    "Holy shit," came out of my mouth before I could think. Tears spilled down my cheeks as they both turned to look at me. Caught in the act, James dropped his hands to his sides.
    "Rochelle... it's not... I mean, Rache and I..."
    "You were what?" My hands were balled at my side, and my chest heaved with every word. "Let me guess, she wasn't breathing and you were giving her mouth to mouth? Get real, James."
    I turned and stalked back to the gym. I needed to call my dad. This night had turned to hell in one heck of a minute.
    I reached the doors, where "I'll Be" was blaring from inside. Through the frosted windows I could see Stephanie and Jason, holding each other close as they swayed to my favorite song.
    More tears came, running down my chest and staining the front of my white dress. It should have been me.
    It will never be you, my severely damaged self-conscious answered.
    James grabbed my wrist before I could escape through those doors.
    "Rochelle, listen to me."
    I turned to him, wiping away the tears, embarrassed he had to see me waste them on him.
    "Let me go, I'm so freakin' done."
    "No, listen," his grip was strong, just like every time he had dragged me to the closet, his car, the bathroom. "Look, I wanted to like you. You're such a giving and sweet person, and the time we spent together was pretty great, but I can't, I mean... you know I have my reputation to protect. What would the guys think if they saw me with a fat girl?"
    I was stunned; those last two words wounded my soul more than anyone ever had. "But... I gave you everything... even..."
    "I know, but I needed the practice," he said, and to my horror, laughed. "Surely, you didn't think that was my first time, did you? You def won't be the last. Besides, I knew Rachel would be here tonight, but I wasn't sure if she'd accept me. So I asked you, hoping you'd introduce us, cuz ya'll are so tight. She's so thin and sexy, she'd be an easier fuck than you, I bet, and a whole lot tighter."
    I slapped him, then, hard – the sound had been a tinny echo reverberating on the empty metal lockers around us. "You worthless piece of shit!" If no one in the gym heard me, it would have been a shock. "Don't ever, EVER speak to me again."
    I pushed through the doors. A little piece of my identity would always belong to him, lost in those innocent moments in Mr. Year's classroom. I was a shell to be used and thrown away – worthless.

Chapter Seven
    I'll be your crying shoulder,
I'll be love's suicide
I'll be better when I'm older,
I'll be the