I see her before she sees me. She's running, well, jogging, well … trying to get some exercise. As she plods along, sweat drenches her massive body, making her XXL T-shirt cling to every inch of flabby skin as it stretches tight across her heaving chest. Her face is agony.

My response is automatic, involuntary. Disgust.

I can feel it weighing down on me like a layer of slime. Her round face turns my way, and from two driveways away she knows it's there too, if not by what I show but by who I am. Who she is.

I am a seventeen-year-old boy. She is a girl around my age, without a slim waist, bouncing blond curls, and a tasteful amount of cleavage. There is an unwritten law that dictates two options for how we treat each other. I generally go with the nicer route and pretend girls like her don't exist. She knows the game by now, so as the distance between us disappears, she lowers her gaze, afraid to see it glaring back at her from one more person's eyes. Disgust.

I can hear her breathing now, suffocating, ragged, dying in her throat. She's killing herself, and for what? A better body? A different life? It is then that I realize she understands my reaction even better than I do. She feels it every time she looks in a mirror. Disgust.

Suddenly I hate myself. I have a frantic desire to take my filthy, fetid conscience and scrub it raw. I'm one more guy, treating her like just another unattractive girl. Confirming her view of men and the world. Confirming what she feels about herself. Disgust.

It's awful! Horrible! She is a person, not a slug to be stepped carefully around or squished for fun. I have to do something. Say something. Give her a smile if nothing else. Now is the moment, her head is moving …

She looks up.

I look down.

She notices.

I don't know what made me do that, but she does. She's seen it her whole life. ­Disgust.

We both continue walking. I finally get home and go straight to the bathroom, flicking on the lights and staring into the mirror. Brown hair, brown eyes, a bit skinny with a fair complexion. I see a normal kid. But that's not how I feel.