Chloe stood at the edge of the water, the microphone resting against her hip, a look of absolute, arrogant victory plastered across her flawless face. She thought she had won. She thought I was going to reveal a pale, un-toned, perfectly normal body, proving to the entire school that my reclusive nature was nothing more than a pathetic, attention-seeking personality disorder.
I stopped exactly three feet away from her. I looked into her beautiful, expectant hazel eyes.
My fingers, slick with sweat, gripped the thick knot of the bathrobe belt. I pulled.
The knot came loose.
I gripped the lapels of the heavy white terrycloth. I opened my arms, pushing the fabric backward. The heavy robe slipped off my shoulders, sliding down my arms, and pooled into a bright white halo around my ankles on the hot concrete.
I stood in the blinding, midday sunlight, wearing nothing but the tiny, neon-pink string bikini.
The reaction was instantaneous, violent, and absolute.
A collective, massive, horrified gasp rippled through the crowd of two hundred teenagers. It was a visceral, guttural sound of pure shock. Someone near the back dropped a glass bottle; it shattered loudly against the patio stones, the sound echoing like a bomb.
