THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20

It’s Thursday and I’m embarrassed of my butterflies.

They’re going to announce Dr. Kareem’s girl group

in homeroom. It feels stupid to be nervous

about something I don’t even want.

(Do I?)

The butterflies in my stomach

feel more like maggots,

inching up my esophagus.

Somehow thinking of it

as butterflies

feels like thinking

I deserve to be chosen—

the maggots feel more appropriate,

swimming through the rot of me.

Still, when Ms. Gladstone reads

the list of twelve girls—

three from each grade—

I see the flutter of the smile

on her lips

and think maybe in the crawl

and creep of my maggots

she sees a flash of green,

like a caterpillar

instead.