My classmates mocked my birthmark for years, and by senior year, I'd accepted that no boy would ever ask me to prom. Then the school's most popular boy took my hand and changed everything. But when the police walked into the gym looking for him, my world shattered.
The hallways of my high school always felt longer when I walked them.
I kept my eyes on the floor, my dark hair brushed forward to cover the left side of my face, where the birthmark spread across my cheek like a map of a country no one wanted to visit.
At 17, I had perfected the art of being invisible.
I headed home to the small apartment Mom and I shared. Mom worked two jobs, and most nights I heard the front door click open long after midnight.
That Tuesday, she was home for dinner, which was rare. She set a plate of spaghetti in front of me and sat down with a sigh.
"Hannah, sweetheart, you've barely touched your food."
"I'm not hungry, Mom."
She studied my face the way only mothers can. "Is it school again?"
I shrugged. "They put up the prom posters today. Brittany was handing out the tickets like she owned the place."
