Her special clothes

On the bathroom floor — in those special clothes she picked out to impress that one girl. She will never get to ask her name, all because of the silver Saint Christopher around her neck instead of a line of pearls—the white button-up instead of a long, colourful dress.

She really tried, choosing her best clothes, stealing her dad’s cologne, sneaking out to avoid her parents catching her in ‘boys' clothes.’ All she could think about was the mystery girl, soft skin, long blonde hair, and that beautiful smile. She didn’t even know if she would say anything to her. Just a glance. A smile.
The whispers cut sharply, and the rooms she found herself in filled with unfamiliar stares.

When she found her, all she wanted was a smile. Not the sneer that twisted her lips, nor the whispered words she couldn’t hear, but that smile. The one she had dreamed of. A smile of recognition. Instead, the mystery girl turned away, her words lost as she whispered to him, leaving her standing alone.

She could take the whispers — if only they hadn’t been for him, the boy who didn’t have to pretend the way she did.

She really tried. Desperate to be anywhere else.

Insults following up the stairs, ‘freak’ and ‘pretender’, weighing heavier every time she moved.

By the time she reached the top, that weight was too much. She lay at the door, crushed beneath the weight of judgment.

On the bathroom floor, in those same special clothes she picked out. She never got to ask her name, wishing she had chosen the line of pearls and that colourful dress instead.