Picture by Lisa Pennington
Edited by Charity West
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For Bill, my sweet husband, who never stops giving of himself
Over the last three weeks, I’d moved like a ninja through the halls of Helena High—invisible, stealthy—going from class to class, taking the least traveled paths. At least that’s what I’d convinced myself. It took the horrible, sing-song voice of Katie Lee for me to realize I was no ninja master. More like a giant target with a bull’s-eye painted on my forehead.
“Christy Hadden. Oh, Christy Hadden.”
My heart froze. Katie Lee had bullied me since the first day of my sophomore year, nine long months ago.
“Hey, look,” she had said that first day. “It’s that homeless girl we saw eating out of the garbage at the mall last week.” The three girls with her had laughed liked hyenas.