The group of lanky, sweaty boys around us didn’t bat an eyelid. A few offered perfunctory laughs, and then, in all probability, forgot.

I couldn’t.

As soon as I reached my room, I got in front of the mirror, newly aware of chunks of fat.

Newly inadequate.

To this day, 12 years later, I hunch my shoulders to hide the fat on my chest. It doesn’t matter that it’s not there any more.

Following the revelation that I was plumper and shorter than other boys my age, more reasons for inadequacy followed quickly.