Precursor no.3

It wasn't really a dress, it was a big shirt. But it wasn't really a big shirt either, it was a regular sized shirt that my mother would wear over a no-cleavage tank top and khaki Capri pants to work. I had an awful habit of vandalizing the stitch work of clothing by stretching it any which way so to fit me, and this particular shirt wouldn't be spared. The cheap, leopard print push-up bra I stole from the women's section peeked out foreignly from the low v-neck travelling to my ribcage, and I suddenly felt mad at myself for choosing it. I was supposed to be a rabbit. I'm not sure why this bothered me so much, because I was going to a stupid, obnoxious high school party with boys that didn't care about whether or not my outfit matched - they didn't even want to see my outfit on me at all. I sighed.
"How did your b***s get so big?" She gawked. I laughed stupidly. It was only a surprise because I constantly wore sports bras to make myself look skinnier. My dream was to have a flat chest. But I'd always been a cursed girl.