The next morning, Georgia woke up with whipped cream all over her face. She looked up and saw the jeering eyes of all of the other girls. “Morning, Sleeping Ugly,” one laughed with a grin. “Breakfast’s ready.”
Georgia yawned and rubbed the whipped cream off of her chin and cheeks then followed the other girls downstairs.
An hour later, her father came by to pick her up. In the car ride home, he asked her if she had fun. The feeling of guilt she had long forgotten dropped like a stone into her stomach again. She managed a smile and a nod, yawning. He asked her what they did, and she gave him a simple answer to avoid more questions.
“Girl stuff,” she said, turning on the radio.
When they arrived at home, she quickly brought her bag to her room and went for her shower.
While she was drying her hair, she wondered about what it would be like to be an egg. Alone, safe inside of the shell, waiting to be born and be a…
“Chicken,” she whispered to herself. “I’m not a chicken. I did it.” She tried to feel pleased with herself, telling herself that she accomplished something, that she had been accepted with the Populars. All she felt, however, was that hefty stone of remorse weighing her down. She had thrown the egg at the house. She had broken the window. She had…