I didn’t move. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“Come on, Maya!” Chloe taunted, her voice turning cruel, using the peer pressure of the crowd as a blunt-force weapon. “Or are you too much of a coward to let people see who you really are? Are you going to ruin our birthday because you need to be special?”

A few of Chloe’s closest, meanest friends began to clap a slow rhythm. “Take it off,” one of them shouted.

The rhythm caught on. Teenagers are predatory by nature; they smell blood and they circle. Within seconds, a massive, synchronized chant rolled through the backyard.

“Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”

They thought it was a joke. They thought it was lighthearted sibling banter. They thought I was just a prudish, introverted killjoy who was afraid to show a little skin.