In one of my most vivid middle school memories, I’m sitting in the grassduring a break at field hockey practice. One of older girls on the team grabsthe hand of a quiet sixth-grader as she reaches for a water bottle, pulls itclose to her own face, and announces, “If you have hair on your fingers abovethe first knuckle, it means you’re a lesbian.”My heart pounds in my stomach as she starts reaching for the hands of theother girls closest to her,…
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