“Hey are you the new girl?,” wondered Maisie Grayson, alpha of the mean girl clique.

“Will she recognize me? Is my eyeshadow too similar to the makeup I used to wear? Is my nose too wide?” Are the very first thoughts that rush through my mind. There is no hint of recognition. She genuinely looks confused. Inwardly, I am very relieved. I sigh and put on my best fake smile.

“Oh, Yes! My name is Sabine Morgan.”, I stick my hand out and shake her hand.

It lasts less than a second before I pull on my Chanel sunglasses and waltz away from Maisie Grayson and all her evil minions. My mind can’t stop the flashbacks though. The evil laughs, the fire, the smell of burning flesh. My screams as Maisie and her clique throw exploding firecrackers and spraying flaming hairspray at my face. Then the pain. So much pain. It was truly a miracle that I even lived. I had to be sent to Los Angeles and then on to Switzerland to plastic surgeons who are using experimental surgeries to reconstruct burn victims’ faces. Before they reconstructed my face, they told me they could dramatically alter my face so no one would ever recognize me. So I could finally be safe.