Before even walking into the gym there’s sweat dripping down Monet’s neck, the sound of the other girls talking amongst themselves causes her to twist her long shirt sleeve. She reaches for it but is met with her bare wrist covered in goosebumps. Seconds ago, she finished changing into a short sleeve purple top and gray sweatpants but her previous actions were forgotten as soon as she reached the locker room exit that led to the gym. Someone knocks into her shoulder, sniggering as they walk past her but she stays frozen as sweat streams down her body.

“Is everyone out?!” She hears the gym teacher, a short blonde woman whose nails remind her of talons shout.

“No, Ms. Wendy,” a sweet voice that sounded like nails to a chalkboard to her ears calls out.

The voice belonged to a petite girl named May, who was always twirling her long dyed blonde hair. To the adults in the school, she had the demeanor of an angel but to any of the students she acted like a devil with too much time on her hands.

“Monet, is standing in the doorway again,” May continues, causing Monet to gulp but still she didn’t move.

The gym teacher, Ms. Wendy blows her whistle hard. “Final warning, if you don’t come in now it’s detention after school.”

With that threat, Monet moves her feet forward and walks into the gym. The gym lights overhead sear into her body and she recoils as she makes her way toward the benches. When she reaches the benches, she sits at the far end where there’s a vast space between her and the other girls. Keeping her head down, she rocks back and forth, nails digging into her palm as the gym lights continue to sear into her and the talking girls' voices transform into banshee’s screams.

“What a freak,” she hears May mock her and a cruel laugh follows after.

The sound of Ms. Wendy’s whistle clangs against Monet’s ears.

“Quiet, everyone,” the gym teacher says after the whistle blows. “Today, we’re doing teams for a good old game of dodgeball. And our lucky captains for today are May and Eve.”

The sound of feet against the metal benches making their way down sound excruciating to Monet’s ears. Yet, somehow the scratchy mocking voice in her head overpowers the sounds as it pulls her down in a self-hating abyss. No one’s going to choose you, the voice in her head says. It causes her already tense body to become set in cement. The breaths that escape her are quick but heavy with the weight of self-loathing and the reality of living life as a permanent outcast. Her mom always told her things get better with age but now in her freshman year of high school she’s finally accepted that it’ll only get worse from here.

Maybe it’d be better if she could acquire the skill of stealth and avoid the eyes of those set to condemn her. But whether in the vast halls of the school or the compact classrooms full of teachers who never remembered her name, there's always a spotlight of terror burning its mark on her skin. Monet comes back to the present, feeling the indent her nails left on her palm as she steadies her breath. Her mind goes to the thought of ice cream on a hot day. The imagined cold feeling on her tongue helps quell the anxiety burning in her body. With slow breaths she looks around, there’s only five girls left around her still sitting on the bench. As expected, she’ll be the last one called. The one both captains will verbalize is dead weight. The whole game even if she makes herself invisible, it’ll be obvious to all that she’s the chain tied around their ankles.

How many times will the ball hit her face? And how many times will she hear the other girls mumble false apologies after the gym teacher utters out a warning? Last time, it was five because somehow she managed to time someone’s throw well enough to have it hit her shoulder and finally free herself from the torturous game. But, most times, the other girls schemed to make her one of the last ones standing so they could mock her awkward movements and then blame her after she lost them the game.

She hears someone loudly say her name, it’s the gym teacher who is looking at her with expectant eyes. Looking around, she sees that she’s the only one left on the bench. Around her, she hears snickers and she stands up, wishing she could run away.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she remains the last one standing in the bleachers without a place to belong.