REMOVED

“You can do this,” I muttered under my breath, tugging nervously at the hem of my tattered jean skirt. “You are a strong, beautiful, intelligent woman. This will be a piece of cake.”

Except that it probably wouldn’t. Brookfield East High School rose up before me, a brick prison crammed between two larger cement parking structures. Taxis whizzed by behind me, as I stood staring up at the large yellow banner that welcomed all new and returning students, my stomach sinking. Someone was honking, and I turned to find that I was still standing in the middle of the street, and scampered up onto the sidewalk, waving an apology at the angry soccer mom who’d been trying to avoid running me over in her minivan.