Water—typically just a source of hydration for most—becomes a life-or-death matter for someone with my condition. Even the slightest contact with water on my skin could be fatal. One small mistake could cost me everything. I shouldn't have to live in fear that forgetting an umbrella on a rainy day might lead to my end. That's why, apart from occasionally attending art classes at high school, I stay home and rely on online schooling. On the rare days I do go out, I wear heavy waterproof clothing that ensures my safety but also makes me a target for bullying.
It was routine—Neisha and Leah, my long-time antagonists, had targeted me since kindergarten, the day I stepped in to help someone else being bullied. In kindergarten, it was teasing because I hadn't yet mastered tying my shoes. In first grade, they mocked my pronunciation. By second grade, my curiosity seemed to irritate them. My final year in full-time public school was the last time I would ever be considered "normal."
Sitting by the pool that smelled of chlorine literally made me nauseous
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