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The very best thing about landing in that grave? Perspective.So I peer through this morning’s prism: a science test looming in second period, an a-hole of a coach who probably could have used more childhood therapy than I got, and a tell-tale tampon under my foot.I consider the clawed tiger on the bed, the one wearing the zebra-printed sports bra – the same tiger that every Sunday transforms into the girl who voluntarily walks next door to help sort Miss Effie’s medicine into her days-of-the-week pill container. The one who pretended her ankle hurt one day last week so the backup settler on her volleyball team would get to play on her birthday.
