MEAN GIRLS I had never truly understood how people could run without breaking into sweat in the first three minutes. As I panted after the race, I wiped the sweat streaming down my forehead with the end of my t-shirt. A game of tag has always been an exhausting activity for me. The sound of shoes thumping on the grass alerted me of the danger and I broke into a run, ignoring my burning lungs. The wind rushed against my face, forcing me to squint my eyes. The sunlight showed me no mercy as it continued to cast its burning rays of light onto my head. Bulging beads of sweat began surfacing on my forehead once again before rolling down my face and onto the grass. No wonder some people called me a human sprinkler.
By the end of the run, my hair was completely disheveled and stuck to my face in the form of damp curls. I trudged towards the benches, completely exhausted when I heard a snicker behind me. Turning my head, I saw two of my classmates, Zara and Charlotte, giggling together as they clung onto each other’s t-shirts. I cast a wary smile towards them, feigning a friendly demeanor As I could barely string together two sentences in English at the time, I did my best to avoid interactions that would mire me in confused and embarrassed attempts at broken dialog. They circled me like wolves, snarling to me in words I couldn’t quite understand. Zara poked my forehead with their index finger before wiping it frantically on her skirt. She let out a torrent of words, staring at me with her icy blue eyes, her face contorted in an expression of disgust 22
