She pulled her head back and her nose up as if she had suddenly smelled something horrible. "Well, excuse me for asking," she said. "You might not eat anything unusual, but you're certainly weird."
"Is that the only word in your vocabulary, Meg? Try 'different,' 'strange,' 'peculiar,' and give 'weird' a day off. Shut up for a day, and give the English language a break."
She muttered something under her breath and hurried away to tell her friends what I had said. They all glared in my direction. Although I wouldn't show it, I would have to admit that all of this bothered me. When I told Ava about the looks they often gave me, she said, "Ignore them. They're meaningless," but I was having trouble doing it—more trouble, I believed, than she and Brianna had had when they were my age. Neither had ever expressed the unhappiness I felt at school and at not being part of anything girls my age were a part of. Why didn't they long for these things as much as I did?
