Despite the occasional whisper, glower, and slight, I need no one to remind me of my high school days. I was the stereotypical cheerleader—self-centered, superior, and more concerned with hair and makeup than the state of the world. Let alone Nowhere, North Carolina.
 
Well, not really Nowhere, though that is what I called the town of Pickwick, certain my future lay in some exotic locale like Hollywood. Funny thing is, that’s where my introverted cousin Piper went when she up and left Pickwick after high school. But that’s another story.
 
Yes, I was the real deal—a pompom-pumping, short-skirtwearing, belly-button-baring guy magnet. Not a bad thing. After all, Queen Esther, who in my teenage opinion was the only interesting character in the Bible, made the most of her beauty. And look where it got her. Fortunately for the Israelites, not where it got me.
 
Once I started acting on the attraction that made guys shove their way to the head of my line, I was all in. Competition for my attention was exhilarating, and though I never planned to “go all the way,” things progressed until…
 
Well, they progressed. And not just the one time. Which is why, when I ascended the stage over twelve years ago to accept my high school diploma, I did so with a basketball-size bump that was further proof I was one girl whose vocabulary lacked a two-letter word my boyfriends said was overrated—“no.”
 
As for the bump, her name is Devyn, though it wasn’t until I delivered my baby that I thought of her as much more than an inconvenience and a threat to my figure. But she soon became everything tome, and I thank God I didn...