They just weren’t coming in. I am talking about my breasts. Two by two my friends’ appeared, neatly tucked into training bras and then, once they were properly primed, into full-on cups with wires and pads. I tried one on in the mall — just to see — while my friend Renana stole a thong. With my T-shirt on, standing still, I could pass for a girl who could get felt up, but when I twisted my torso just an inch, the unfilled cups gave way to flat. I bought the bra anyway, for 36 of my parents’ bucks.
I didn’t want to be flat anymore. The land was flat and the pop was flat but it wasn’t fair to be this flat, not as a girl, not for me, not in the summer with the skimpy shirts and the bathing suits and the other girls.