I was in fourth grade. You remember, the year we were all awkward 9-year-olds with mock swagger. You were the girl with the long, blonde hair, new shoes and designer jeans. You were the kid who played club sports, went on family vacations to Disneyland and ate hot lunch. I was the other kid. I was the round, pudgy kid, the one with glasses held together with duct tape. You called me Fatso...
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Daniella Stevanato Sanchez