You can feel people staring; it's like heat that rises from the pavement during the summer, like a poke in the small of your back. You don't have to hear a whisper, either, to know that it's about you. 

I used to stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom to see what they were staring at. I wanted to know what made their heads turn, what it was about me that was so incredibly different. At first I couldn't tell. I mean, I was just me.   

Then one day, when I looked in the mirror, I understood. I looked into my own eyes and I hated myself, maybe as much as much all of them did. That was the day I started to believe they might be right.

 

 Nineteen Minutes - Jodi Picoult