She sat on the picnic table, gently peeling a scab from her knee. It was a slow process, and she hissed as it lifted away, revealing a bubble of red blood. It was almost off her body, and by the time she finally held it in her hand, there was a fine crimson trail dripping down towards her dollar store flip-flops. She stared at her stick legs, her knobby knees. Her mother had spent much of that summer reaffirming that soon those stick legs of hers would begin to curve and become more sha...