A Wish For Her (Continued)
“Disgusting.” Lisa laughs.
“I bet she has all sorts of diseases.”
“I bet she’s wearing his sweatshirt. The one that smells as bad as he does.”
“I bet she’s gonna be one of those girls who never goes to college and ends up on the street.”
“I bet she’s gonna be a …” I look around to make sure no teachers are listening, “whore.”
That’s her new name. It spreads like a foul disease around the school, through the hallways, passed from one lip-gloss-smeared mouth to the next. Some kids just call her “The W,” or “The H” for the stupid ones who can’t spell. It’s what she is.
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