My best friend, Wesley, was taller than me at every age. My uncles were both taller than me. My dad, way taller than me. You see it in the family phot...s. Of all the males, I’m the ‘short’ one. And six foot isn’t even short. I spent all my childhood thinking I would match my father’s height, then at some point I had to accept that I’d stopped growing. Sounds like I’ve had an easy life if that’s all I had to worry about. The war started when I was about eight or so. I’m probably supposed to talk. Like many of my Latina friends, I had long, silky black hair. I liked to keep it loose unless I was playing basketball or tennis. I was athletic, somewhat muscular. My breasts were pert and round, maybe an average size for a girl my age. I suppose I was somewhat popular, all things considered. I had a lot of friends, no serious enemies, and I was generally invited to whatever parties or events a classmate was putting on. Unlike many of my friends, I mostly enjoyed my first year and a half of. More

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