I switched to a different school in grade six. There was a lot more emphasis on labels and cliques than my old school. I started wearing skate shoes and brown, logo-less clothes to blend into the brickwork as much as possible. Each day I worked closer to becoming invisible. I coughed after laughing, in case I shouldn't have, and only spoke when spoken to. For the three years I went there, I spent a lot of time alone and started to draw. At first I drew severed heads and bloodied wrists, but as I got better I developed a taste for feet, either shoed or bare. I would draw angst, nervousness, or calm by the way the pressure was put on a certain toe or if the foot was twisted to one side or the other. It kept me sane knowing that I could do this, that I was able to show what I saw so clearly and yet, I figured, must be so easily overlooked. I broke my wrist trying to jump over a shopping cart and I couldn't get the lines right after, so I gradually stopped drawing. I came out of my shell in college and started making friends again, but I still cover my mouth when I laugh.