12 years old, feeling grown-up pretty in a new black bikini, until a boy at the community pool calls her string bean. She spends the rest of summer in a cover up.
14, giraffe-limbed, with a bad haircut. The girls roll their eyes and talk, the boys throw things. She loses hours to the mirror, deciding just how she’d fix her flaws.
17 and she fills out the dresses she’s been admiring for years. Guys look at her in the halls. Sometimes they touch, without want or warning: sly fingertips on hair, hip, breast. She longs for a cover up.
For Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge: Pretty
I went a little free thought with this one, just to see what came of it. Only minor editing.