I stared at the beige desk, partially covered in my pencils and papers, as Mrs. Olsen’s monotone voice droned on about the ever captivating wonders of 6th-grade math. A quick sting on my arm disturbed my zoned out thoughts of what my mom would let me have for dessert that night, and I turned to see my friends giggling, as one of them had just flicked me. Naturally, a flicking war commenced with that corner of the room, and naturally, I was the best flicker. You see, the trick was to get them on their bare skin so clothes wouldn’t lessen the sting of the strike. Flicks were distributed on necks, arms, and hands, when my friend Jenna called my flicking game weak. This obviously wouldn’t do, so I rolled up the sleeve of her blue north face jacket preparing to lay a strong one on her arm- but what I saw there made me pause. Scars upon scars rang along the length of her arm. There must have been 50 there, short but deep red lines marring her soft porcelain skin.  

I had heard about this before-online or in the hushed conversations between my older sisters about the girl in their grade who cut herself- but I had never actually seen it. Never expected to see the scars from someone my age, least of all Jenna. She was always so happy and bubbly. Always smiling, or acting silly to make others laugh. You would have never known. 

A million of these thoughts ran through my head at that moment, but it only took me a split second to turn her arm over to the unblemished side, give her a half-hearted flick, and roll the sleeve of her blue north face back down. She gave me a tired-looking smile but quickly resumed laughing with our classmates who hadn’t noticed the exchange. I did the same, but my mind was gone, and my laughs were hollow. The game eventually died out as Mrs. Olsen finally realized half her class wasn’t listening to her.

I spent the rest of that day wondering why. How had no one ever noticed. Jenna came into class the next day perky as always, greeting everyone with spirited hellos and enthusiastic waves. That blue north face jacket felt like an ominous presence on her back, the one she wore every day, the one she never took off.