My Name was Supposed to be Elizabeth Ann

In eighth grade, Leann’s California brother blank-check, birthday-gifted her a whole new wardrobe, accessories included.

I tried not to hate her. Tried not to worry whether anyone saw my Thursday jeans were Allthedays’, my sweater winnowed from Glad bag cast-offs, my wrists braceleted with scabs.

They healed up mostly clear, except just there. See? One pinkish edge curls like a tongue.

*****