Why are they looking at just me?
The thought flew by just as more insults piled on. The words echoing through the air and around the earings hanging out from underneath the long dark hair. The faces that didn't turn away in disgust sneered in hatred; their disdain for this perceived oddity only matched by insults from the more brash individuals.
Looking to the right, the friend walking alongside looked over. Their face was turned down, the loose trousers and dress shirt baggy to hide their body. Turning, their mouth worked up and down as if to speak, but no words came out. The only one silent it seemed was the one who might be able to end it. To stop the jeers and laugther, the uncomfortable looks and shuffling away.
But no words came to mind, numbed again, each step was mechanical. The motions being gone through no longer registering at the two walked down the hall and past the gawking crowd. Their only crime their faithfulness to themselves. The loose blouse and simple poodle skirt brushed against cleanly shaven legs, dusting the knees with each wavering step. One more time the young boy turned to look at his friend, her face downcast and gloomy: Why are they only looking at me?