One, two, three, breathe. They aren’t staring at you. One, two, three, breathe. It’s okay. One, two, three, BREATHE. They aren’t doing anything wrong. My heart punches and battles as I walk through the bleak hallways of my high school. I pass by the girls that I’ve known my whole life. Preschool to now; my senior year. It’s absolutely insane how much one person can change between then and now. Gaggles of glaring girls hang out in little groups all over the school, and they giggle and gossip. It makes me want to throw up. They sit there in their small huddles and stare me up and down like vultures eyeing up their prey before it dies.