Hershey Kiss

**I was really iffy about posting this- and even writing it was hard. It's essentially a true story (with some names changed) and I had to stop halfway through and come back to it later, I was so upset. I'm serious. But I like it, and might submit it to this contest my English teacher told us about, so I wanted some opinions. 

                        The crumpled Hershey Kiss wrappers shone silver in the small plastic bowl. I typed away, ignoring the fact that I was half-asleep and listening to the wrong music for writing the story I wanted to be writing.

            I decided to switch topics just for the heck of it and that I’d actually get some sleep that night. Maybe.

            I kept typing, thinking about what had happened at school that day. My fingers paused as I started remembering.

            “Anorexic,” they’d called me. Then when they saw me eat- “No. You’ve got to be bulimic.”

            “You don’t look healthy!” another friend had pointed out, laughing. I had taken it all in, smiling along with them. Laugh and nod. That’s all they want to see. I couldn’t help but defend myself though.

            “I just have a high metabolism,” I had said, tired of the constant teasing. “Sheesh. I even gained a few pounds last week.”

            I had done it just for them. To stop the teasing. I felt bad about the over-eating, but the poking fun of me was getting old. Even if it was just friendly teasing.

            When I had told my friend Sam about me gaining weight she poked the girl next to her, another friend of mine; Emma.

            I couldn’t hear the conversation, but when I heard the laughter, I knew it was about me and my weight. Again.

            “Oh my God! You’ve gained weight!” Emma had said, acting dramatic. “You’re still a stick though.”

            I picked up another Hershey Kiss. I didn’t care that I was full. Just to stop the teasing.

            The next day, I walked up to my group, cringing already.

            “Hey,” one greeted. “Did you get the Favorites form?”

            The eighth graders got to pick the class ‘favorites’- Most Athletic, Smartest, Best Hair, etc- and wrote down the names of a boy and girl. They went into the Memories Book at the end of the year.

            “Yeah,” I said. “I put down Kyle as most dramatic.”

            A few laughed but then Emma was quick to point something out.

            “No. Just, no,” she said. “Kyle’s not dramatic. He overreacts. There’s a difference.”

            Oh, God. Not again. Nobody spoke up. I was alone in this.

            I shrugged. “So? I wanted to put him down for something and that was a funny option.”

            “Okay, Kyle is not dramatic, Shelby,” Emma corrected. “He overreacts. There’s a difference.”

            “’Dramatic’ is a nice way to say ‘overreacts,’” I joked.

            “No it’s not.”

            I tried to think of a way to switch the subject, but thankfully, Cassie walked up and Emma forgot about me. We were best friends, though. Why did I let it bother me so much? It was just her being honest. I was just weak and couldn’t take her constant honesty though.