The game was always the same: girls taller than me, blonder than me; girls chosen first, first before me. Laughter and talking melding into a constant din; the din rising and falling as each girl was chosen.
And alone I stood, an island of crackling nerves, shuffling my feet, hands holding on to each other for fear they might do something regrettable.
And at last I was chosen, last as always, at the end, unheard, unseen, unwanted.
© 2013 Created by Kamy Wicoff.

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