I walk around school. I pull on my sleeve. You don’t know why. I don’t tell you. Or anybody else. It’s my secret, that nobody knows. I’ll keep it that way. “Why are you wearing a hoodie to gym today?” You ask so inocently. “No reason.” I say. You’re still curious. I just keep it on. Even when I’m so hot I feel I’ll drop. Nobody should see. They’d laugh if they saw the scars on me. They’d tell my parents. Can’t have that happen. There perfect kid be ruined? No way. Then, after a day, you give me a braclet. I pull my sleeve up to put it on. You see the scars. “What the heck happened there?!” You shout. Then you make a mean joke. I laugh it off. “Nothing.” That’s all I say. When the bell rings, I go injure myself. Then rush to the next class. I feel so dumb. How could I do this again?