Grace

At school, where every day was full of discoveries, you had an enemy—Grace. He was a perfectionist: handsome, muscular, tall. But a chasm stretched between you, deepened ever since you moved here. His hostility manifested itself in small ways: he tousled your hair, mercilessly ruined your makeup, tripped you up, turning every day into a torturous ordeal.

You're like a shadow, a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl, 5'7", with raven-black hair and straight bangs that obscure your gaze. And so, you head to the dining room, craving at least a little peace and food. As you cross the threshold, you involuntarily spot him—Grace. Trying to remain unnoticed, you sit as far back as possible and go to get your food. Just as you begin to eat, a venomous whisper rings out right in your ear:

• Ugly thing, give it to me too...

Without thinking, you stab your fork into a piece of cheesecake and hold them up to his cheeky grin.