“Brownies!” my teacher sings. My fists clench up in my sweatshirt pocket, my just washed hands becoming sweaty. I want to run away, but I can’t.

“Brownies!” My fourth grade teacher called, holding up a pan. She began passing them out, and my anxiety raged.

As she got closer and closer to the desk I shared with my best friend, I debated how to tell her that I couldn’t eat the brownie. I was already dreading it, knowing she wouldn’t understand. Also, the brownies smelled sickeningly good, but I knew that they were a risk I couldn’t afford to take.

“Ican’thavethebrownies,” I said when she neared me. I wondered if I should have said that I didn’t want one instead, but I wanted one. Of course, I had to work against my better wishes.

“What did you say?” she asked me. “Speak up, please.”

“I can’t have the brownies,” I repeated. Before she can reply, a girl that I don’t know anything about except her name started up on me.

“You can’t have brownies?!” she yelled. “What is wrong with you?” I wanted to say ‘nothing’, but I couldn't. The thoughts wouldn’t stop coming.

Would she make me eat it?

Would she taunt me with it?

Would she tell people that something is wrong with me?

I didn’t know how to explain to her, or to explain to anyone for that matter how a food allergy works, when it seems like they don’t care. And how it felt for her to make fun of me when I’m already struggling to stick up for myself. When I was already sad to not be able to eat the brownies, which were tempting me with their visible chocolatey goodness.

“Weirdo,” another kid chimed in. The teacher frowned, confused.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I don’t understand.” I could tell by now she wasn’t going to reprimand my classmates.

I was alone with nobody to stick up for me. And it was all because of the stupid brownies, one of which was being plunked in front of me right now.

Did she want me to go into anaphylactic shock?

I ran for the bathroom.

“Oh, today is amazing,” one of my classmates says, drawing me out of my memory. “Brownies, plus I have a volleyball game!”

I run for the bathroom, hot tears of shame threatening my cheeks.

I hate brownies.