Isis allowed herself a momentary smile. She knew they weren’t going to trig. She could remember back to eighth grade when they couldn’t pass her algebra class. They had probably gone to smoke behind the dumpsters.
Her smile was soon replaced by a piteous frown. Why did they have to be so mean? Isis tenderly touched her new black and hair and groaned. She felt a tear staining her porcelain cheek. Being albino sucked. She hated girls like Amby and Tate, with their beautiful, warm skintones and their dark, sunwarmed hair. They seemed to at ease with themselves. Isis could barely walk down the hall without batting a sad pink-eyed smile in the direction of some mocking kids.
They had always picked on her. Isis could remember back to first grade when the teacher had told the class that they were supposed to be extra nice to Isis. Because she was what they had called ‘special’. Because she was different in a world full of regulars.