One single miss-step is all it took. The wooden platform beneath my feet glistened precariously. It was as if the morning’s dew had intentionally hid in the preserving shade of that cloudless afternoon. My unsuspecting sneaker slid with skate-like grace right off the edge of the wooden plank. I dove feet-first toward the approaching gravel. The impact was unforgiving as my ankles attempted to bare both gravity and my weight. Shocked and bewildered, I lost myself, staring at the blue skies above.

As the intense pain of the twisted ankle coerced tears from my eyes, a single response inflicted an even greater wound. My consoling friend, Tom, unknowingly offered me inescapable advice.

“Don’t be gay,” he playfully suggested.

As the final school-bell …show more content…
I resisted the urge to weep as she looked at me with those ‘everything will be ok’ eyes. She held me closely in her arms; providing shelter from the words that had callously followed me home.

It was around dinnertime when these words returned in a new form. My father finished prayer and the routine discussion of our day had begun. Topics I didn't understand were exchanged across the table. It was easy to disappear in such theological conversations. Typically, I could use my quiet camouflage to avoid participation but I wasn't so successful this time around. My day had come into everyone’s focus. I shamefully divulged the intense pain I felt in my ankle. Then, almost as though he was quoting from an unwritten manual for the male species, my father plainly replied.

“Toughen up princess. You have soccer …show more content…
The pandemic of cooties had passed and the boys slowly transitioned into a wild frenzy of flirtatious bullying. Everything seemed simple until I met “the new girl.”

Erin moved to our school from the United States and was very well-developed for her age. Like moths to flame, the mesmerized intermediate males swarmed. I believe it was my lack of interest in the new girl that brought me her attention. One sunny recess late in the school year, she had asked me to the back field. I resisted but this gesture would have an audience. This was my first kiss, and for some reason, it didn't feel normal.

This would be the least of my worries. A greater fear was on the horizon and I only had a summer to prepare. I would fall from the top of the food chain back to the bottom. Soon I would be forced into new hunting grounds; a habitat of excitable and feral animals — survival of the fittest. My metamorphosis had begun as I collected my DC shoes, baggy skater shirts, and a skateboard. The frosted tips gradually disappeared and my curly hair had developed into wings on either side of my Volcom hat. But the next step of evolution was not complete without joining a