Annie's friends and classmates gave me strange looks and even asked her how old I was, wondering if I had just started elementary school.
The truth was, we went to the same middle school, but I rarely talked to anyone. There were 49 kids in my class, and I sat at the back of the classroom.
No one wanted to be my friend because I wore old clothes that did not fit, and I was not very talkative. They said I was dirty and smelled bad, like an orphan.
Annie glanced at me and quickly explained, "No, we're the same age. Forget about her. Let's just blow out the candles."
Seeing how awkward I looked standing off to the side, Aunt Monica walked over and gently told me to join Annie in blowing out the candles. But standing next to her only made me feel more out of place.
Someone wrinkled their nose and said, "Ugh, what's that smell?"
I instinctively shuddered.
Others started sniffing too. Annie frowned and said, "Cursida Claire, is that you? Maybe you should go take a shower."
I quickly looked down and sniffed my clothes. But I had just showered, so how could I smell?
"It's not me…" I then realized I was wearing slippers.
"Is it the slippers?" someone suggested.
"Stop talking nonsense! Those are my dad's slippers, and they're new. The smell is coming from you, Cursida. Do you have athlete's foot or something?" Annie said, looking serious.
I didn't know whether to take the slippers off right away or try to explain.
Seeing the tension, my drunk mom staggered over and slapped me hard without saying a word.
"You're already so grown, but you can't even keep yourself clean! Go outside and wait!"
The other kids were shocked. They stared at me and Mom, wide-eyed.
My face turned bright red, and for the first time, I felt a spark of pride itching to break through the surface. But it was quickly crushed by Mom's slap.
It was Aunt Monica who stepped in to help, saying, "Why are you hitting the child? It's not her fault! It's Zach's foot odor, not hers."
I looked at Aunt Monica, grateful. I often thought that if she were Mom, life would be so much easier. She would speak kindly to me, never hit me, and I would get cake on my birthday instead of having to work all day.
But Mom shot me a look full of disdain and turned to comfort Annie with a face filled with guilt.
"Annie, I'm so sorry. This little brat ruined your party. I'll deal with her when we get home."
Fear twisted inside me. I knew what that meant. Whenever Mom 'dealt' with me, it was never good.
She pulled me out of Aunt Monica's house, but the moment we were outside, she shoved me hard. I lost my balance and tumbled down the stairs. She was not satisfied, though, and slapped me twice more.
"You're such a worthless brat. Why didn't you just die when you were born?"
Dazed by the slaps, I could not even tell if she was yelling at me or cursing me.
I was born on the same day as Annie. She was celebrating happily in the house while I was being scolded and beaten by Mom.
Grief and anger hit me all at once. Just then, something inside me snapped. I struggled free and shoved her away.
I could not help but scream, "If you don't love me, why did you even have me?"
Mom froze, caught off guard by my outburst. "You think I wanted you? If it weren't for…"
She trailed off, her face going blank as she suddenly stopped talking.
Back home, Mom opened another bottle of liquor and drank in the dark living room. She cursed me as she drank, blaming me for ruining Annie's birthday party.
I hid in the kitchen, too afraid to make a sound. My bed was in there too.
Luckily, the moonlight shone through the window, illuminating the space. I wiped my tears and pulled books out of the cabinet to read.
I was so stupid. But if I worked hard enough, maybe I could catch up with Annie and make it to high school.
