Most people look forward to high-school reunions with excitement. I didn’t. Back then, I was the target—the quiet girl with thrift-store clothes, a messy ponytail, and a backpack patched with duct tape. My classmates called me “Dumpster Darcy,” “Charity Case,” and, their favorite, “the class loser.” I ate lunch in the library and kept my head down. It was survival, not childhood. For illustrative purposes onl So when the invitation arrived for our 10-year reunion, I almost deleted it. But then I saw the message attached—accidentally included in a group chat. “Let’s invite Darcy. It’ll be hilarious to see what she looks like now. “Maybe she’ll borrow a dress from a donation bin. “Can’t wait to see if she still smells like cafeteria soup.” I sat there holding my phone, the old shame threatening to crawl back into my chest. But then something inside me snapped—not in anger, but in clarity……..CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
They Invited Me to the Reunion to Mock Me — So I Showed Up in a Helicopter
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