LEARN
The fluorescent lights of the high school hallway felt too bright, a sharp contrast to the heavy, cluttered silence of the house Jane had left that morning. At seventeen, Jane felt like she was living two lives: the one where she was a student trying to find her seat in a new classroom, and the one where she was the structural support for a family that was perpetually collapsing. She leaned against her locker, her reflection in the small mirror catching her eye. Her mother’s voice echoed in her head—the constant comments about "stress-eating," the obsession with the modeling photos from a decade ago, the pressure to be small. Jane straightened her shoulders. She knew she wasn't the "skinny twin," but lately, her body felt like the only thing her parents couldn't colonize. Being "not skinny" was a silent protest, a way to reclaim the skin that had been photographed and critiqued since she was seven. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from her mo...