The one with the boobs.

I recently found out that I was the ridicule of a certain click in the fifth grade because I jogged in gym class different. I jogged in such a way that my arms were bent and stuck to the sides of chest, thus improvising a bra for myself. I was laughed at in secret my people who for some reason gave me weird smirk everytime I'd say hi to them, even in high school. They weren't the queen bee types, but there was a bit of pretentiousness there. But one of them was the first to realize that I was "really nice."

So, in the fifth grade, I was one with the boobs.

Sadly, I grew into them. But not to an extent where one has to complain.