Toughness

When Bruce called me “fat” in our sixth-grade classroom, thanks to having two older brothers, I was well prepared.
“Well, at least I don’t suck my finger in the sixth grade like you do!” I shot back, going right to his weakest point.
“Shut up!” he said, extracting his index finger from his mouth and shoving me. I wore a sleeveless dress that day, and his saliva glazed my bare arm.
A small crowd gathered. “You wanna step outside?” I taunted, knowing that I could take him.
“Yeah, right,” he said, retreating.
Bruce never called me a name again, and neither did anyone else. Not at school at least.