I was born with a naturally high-pitched, sweet voice. To many, I sounded incredibly fake and overly precious. My childhood friend, Liam, loved to mock me for it. He jokingly referred to me to the whole class as his "little delicate trophy wife." A classmate mimicked my voice, exaggerating the pitch: "Oh, little squeaker, Liam doesn't actually like girls who act this fake." I shook my head. "I'm not trying to be anything for anyone. This is just how my voice sounds." "Why are you trying to force me to change who I am?" Her face froze, her mouth opening to argue. I cut her off. "Or are you just jealous of me?" She was speechless, glaring at me with pure resentment. I stood up, adjusted my pink scarf, picked up my textbook, and brushed past her shoulder. A dozen pairs of eyes followed me. They locked onto my pink watch. "Chloe is so incredibly fake." "I bet even her underwear is pink." The tiny, dense whispers flowed continuously into my ears. I silently opened my textbook and said in my soft, quiet voice, "It's morning reading time. Please stop gossiping." The chattering stopped for a few seconds, only to erupt even louder. It felt like they were doing it just to spite me. "Her voice is so strained it's probably going to give out. She sounds like an old witch." "Does she actually think anyone finds that baby voice cute?" Liam sat in the corner, watching me lazily, a smirk playing on his lips. He always seemed to enjoy watching me struggle. I scanned the classroom and slapped my hand hard on the podium. "If you have a problem, take it up with the teacher." The classroom finally fell silent. By the time morning reading ended, a layer of sweat had broken out on my forehead. Returning to my seat, I felt a bit dazed. The mocking words and sneering looks from earlier replayed on an endless loop in my mind. Even though this was far from the first time, I still needed a thick skin to endure it. I led the morning reading once a week. And just because I liked the color pink and had a soft, high-pitched voice... I was treated like a freak in my own class. Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. I didn't turn around, continuing to organize my desk. Liam shoved a carton of strawberry milk into my hand, raising an eyebrow. "Chloe, you're not going to cry, are you?" His words sounded comforting, but his expression betrayed an unmistakable thrill of excitement. I quietly handed the milk back to him. His eyes darkened, his mood souring instantly. "I thought you liked pink? What's wrong, did a few words really break your fragile little heart?" "Look, your voice is pretty fake, but I'm used to it..." I slammed the milk onto the floor. "I don't need it." Secretive glances darted our way; half the class was suddenly very interested in our conversation. The veins in Liam's neck bulged, his expression turning cold. "Chloe, stop being such a drama queen." I stood up and walked around him to go to the restroom. He stuck right by my side, his shoulder brushing my back, speaking through gritted teeth. "Chloe, what is your problem today?" "Are you actually mad?" I stopped dead in my tracks, my fists clenched tight. I stopped so abruptly that Liam couldn't react in time and almost tripped over his own feet. He looked annoyed. "If you insist on wearing pink, you have to be prepared for people to talk trash." "This is the STEM track. It's not some humanities class full of girls." I cut him off. "Liam, are you done talking?" He yanked on a strand of my hair, making my scalp sting. "There you go, acting like a baby again." "Little squeaker, you..." I fiercely swatted his hand away. "You're psychotic. What does my favorite color have to do with you?" Leaving that sentence hanging in the air, I walked into the girls' restroom. From outside the door, I could hear Liam's furious voice. "You act like such a weirdo! Who else is going to pity you besides me?!" He kept rambling, continuously trying to tear me down. I pulled a tissue from my pocket to wipe my sweat. The pink bunny printed on the packaging suddenly felt glaring, making my eyes ache. I just didn't understand. When I chose the STEM track, Liam was incredibly surprised. That day, he tugged on my backpack strap, looking both thrilled and arrogant. "You got put in the same class as me." I froze, a wave of disappointment washing over me. I was good at math and science, so of course, I chose STEM. But I didn't want to share a classroom with him. An emotion I couldn't decipher swirled in Liam's eyes. He spoke to me like a scolding parent: "Since you chose STEM, you shouldn't wear so much pink anymore." I was stunned. He looked down his nose at me. "Not everyone is going to spoil you like I do." I yanked my backpack strap out of his grip and frowned at him. "I'll wear whatever I want." Liam's voice dropped. "Then don't come crying to me later." I stared at him in disbelief. I had known Liam for over a decade. He always loved lecturing me about being "too soft." He was constantly trying to make me cry, to make me submit to him. In elementary school, I had a pink water bottle. He scraped the paint off of it just to mess with me. "Chloe, your bottle isn't pink anymore. Are you still gonna drink from it?" The bottle showed patches of cold, ugly silver metal. Liam looked incredibly smug. "Are you gonna cry?" I bit my lip, fought back my tears, and got so mad I actually got into a physical fight with him. Afterward, he wore that fight like a badge of honor, constantly repeating, "See? You don't need pink." Someone once pointed out to him: "She's just faking it to get attention." Liam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Chloe is just a fake, precious girl." I had sniffled and run out of the classroom, totally devastated. The emotional blow was so severe that for a while, just seeing the color pink gave me anxiety. I was terrified of Liam calling me fake, and terrified of my classmates' mockery. I started wearing black and white clothes and stopped using anything pink. But Liam just laughed again. "Your voice is so soft and weak, it constantly sounds like you're whining for attention." My palms turned ice cold. I grabbed the hem of my shirt, completely lost. From that day on, I didn't dare speak up in class, and I stopped making eye contact with my classmates. My dad noticed something was wrong and sat me down for a long talk. "Chloe, why don't you like pink anymore? And why haven't you been talking to me..." I blinked, and the tears I had been holding back finally fell, drip, drop, soaking his suit jacket. "Dad, liking pink is a mistake." "Why does my voice sound like this? It's so high and squeaky." My dad sighed. "You were born with that voice. It's a gift you inherited from your mother." "If you care too much about what other people think, you'll never be happy." I wiped my tears. "But they all say I'm faking it." He pulled a brand-new pink water bottle from behind his back. "Pink is a very soft color," he said gently. "But you don't have to be as fierce as a sunflower, or as glamorous as a rose." "Just being a cute, pretty pink flower is perfectly fine." The dark clouds in my heart finally parted. Liking pink wasn't a mistake. The next time Liam tried to provoke me, he realized I was bulletproof. He pulled my hair and stole my pink hair clips. I kept my eyes facing forward and treated him like he didn't exist. Liam muttered in frustration, "Why aren't you crying?" I just scoffed, and went right back to wearing the brightest pinks and speaking in my naturally soft voice as I walked around campus. I thought that as we grew older, people would stop gossiping about me. I didn't realize that in the STEM track, pink was basically a taboo. After we split into our specialized tracks, my class was 70% boys. They usually wore black, white, or gray. When I walked into the classroom carrying a bunch of pink school supplies, I instantly drew everyone's attention. People started whispering. I silently walked to my seat. When it was my turn to introduce myself, my high, soft voice triggered a wave of laughter. "Oh my god, so precious. It's giving me goosebumps." "Why didn't she choose the humanities track? She doesn't look like someone who's good at math." The teacher tried to smooth things over. "Chloe's voice just sounds a bit like a little girl's." I said flatly, "I am a girl." The room fell dead silent. I casually sat down, my eyes briefly sweeping over Liam in the corner. He looked arrogant and mocking, as if to say: [See? Wearing pink in a STEM class is insane.] [No one is going to accept you except me.] And it seemed like his words were a self-fulfilling prophecy. Taking my turn as the weekly morning reading leader turned me into the class joke. The walk from my desk to the podium felt like miles. Whenever I stood up there, I would hear the word "squeaker" whispered in the crowd. Some people even theorized that I was putting on this "fake" persona because I liked Liam. That I was doing it on purpose to get his attention. Liam never defended me. Instead, he insisted on bringing me a carton of strawberry milk every single day, loudly declaring: "I'm doing you a favor, proving you aren't completely repulsive to everyone." He watched my embarrassment with pure amusement. He was trying to play the hero in a crisis he helped create. No matter how many times I rejected him, he just assumed I was playing hard to get or throwing a cute tantrum. I shoved the tissue back into my pocket. I was so utterly sick of him sticking to me like gum on a shoe. I left the restroom but didn't dare go back to the classroom until the bell rang. Where the teacher was, people didn't look at me like I was an alien. I took a deep breath and opened my textbook. A folded note suddenly landed on my desk. "Class committee team-building dinner tomorrow night. Don't be absent." My shoulders slumped as I tried to think of an excuse to get out of it. Before I could even decline after class, the Class President, who sat behind me, specifically warned me: "Chloe, you better not ditch us." I forced a smile. "I have a family emergency." Her eyes darted around. "But Liam said you were free." "Aren't you guys neighbors?" Liam sat in the corner, his expression dark and brooding. He was radiating a miserable aura because I had stood up to him earlier. I pressed my lips together, my expression turning cold. "He doesn't live in my house." The President patted my shoulder. "However you need to handle it, you have to come tomorrow night! There's a surprise!" With that, she sprinted away. I frowned, completely at a loss, and immediately texted her to reiterate my stance. [I'm not going. Don't wait for me.] The President replied with a barrage of texts trying to persuade me. I ignored all of them. The next afternoon, the moment school ended, I headed straight for the door. I had barely taken three steps when two pairs of hands clamped down on my shoulders. I spun around, breaking into a cold sweat. The loudest girls in the class were holding me in place. They smiled, though it didn't reach their eyes. "Don't run off! We're just waiting for you." I rarely got angry, but I started struggling fiercely. "I said I'm not going!" They dragged me toward a waiting car. "Stop being so shy." "There's a surprise waiting for you." The KTV room was bathed in flashing neon lights, the bass from the speakers hurting my eardrums. I turned my head away, closed my eyes, and sank into the corner of the sofa, pretending to be dead. They were playing drinking games, making a massive, rowdy scene. Suddenly, someone grabbed my hand. "Chloe, you got the Dare!" I frowned deeply. "I wasn't even playing! How did I get chosen?!" "Liam drew for you! You guys are childhood sweethearts, right?" My chest heaved with anger. I turned to glare at Liam. He was staring right back at me, a mix of frustration and amusement in his eyes. I refused this unsolicited proxy. "He doesn't represent me." The room erupted in dramatic gasps. "Chloe, don't be a buzzkill." "Stop acting so fragile. Can't you just be a good sport like the other girls?" The President grabbed my hand. "The dare is super easy. You just have to sing a love song duet with Liam." "Your voice is so sweet, I bet you sound amazing when you sing." The girls exchanged looks, giggling mockingly. Goosebumps broke out over my arms. I yanked my hand back, stood up, and tried to head for the door. The President instigated, "Liam, it looks like Chloe doesn't want to sing with you." The next second, a harsh, grating sound pierced the room. Liam kicked the glass coffee table hard, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Who wants to sing with this fake squeaker anyway?" "I'm afraid her voice is gonna make my ears bleed." My hand froze on the doorknob. My eyes went wide. Laughter erupted behind me. "I told you Liam didn't actually like her." Liam snapped irritably, "Just get out of here." I took a slow, deep breath. I whipped around, grabbed a glass of beer off the table, and hurled the liquid straight at his chest. My voice was shaking with rage, pitching even higher and softer than usual. "Liam, is this how you get off? By trying to humiliate me?" The room went dead silent. The only sound was the backing track playing on the TV. I spoke clearly, emphasizing every single word: "Who do you think you are to make decisions for me? To me, you're not even a random extra in the background of my life." He wiped the alcohol off his face, looking pathetic, his eyes burning with fury. I pushed the door open and walked out quickly. I didn't let myself cry until I was out the front doors of the building. My tears dried in the wind, only to be replaced by fresh ones. The bitter winter wind whipped down my collar. I pulled my pink scarf tighter and walked home with my head down. Liam initiated a unilateral cold war against me. Whenever I was working on advanced Physics competition problems, he would make snide, sour comments: "A brain like yours is only built for reading poetry." "Do you girls even understand what those equations mean?" I would simply put my pen down and pull out my English vocabulary flashcards to memorize. Seeing that I was genuinely treating him like thin air, Liam would violently kick my desk and storm off in a rage. The class held a "Peer Review" activity. I went to the restroom, and when I came back, I found my name written on the blackboard. Next to it was a title: [The Delicate Little Squeaker Wife] My eyes went bloodshot. I ran up to the board and yelled, "Who wrote this?!" My classmates covered their mouths, snickering. Liam leaned back in his chair and raised his hand. "I did." He taunted me, "Doesn't that title fit you perfectly? You're fake, you squeak..." My blood ran cold. My hands turned to ice. He started counting my flaws on his fingers. "You love to cry, and you sound like you're moaning in bed when you talk..." I charged down the aisle like an enraged bull and slapped him across the face as hard as I could. Liam cursed loudly, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. "Chloe, you actually hit me..." Halfway through his sentence, he met my eyes and quickly looked away. "So fragile..." He kicked his desk in frustration and stormed out of the classroom. The people around me started whispering again. "The squeaker failed to seduce Liam..." "She's so fake. If I were him, I wouldn't like her either." I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I spun around instantly and marched straight up to that group. "How do you know I like Liam?" They jumped, their eyes going wide. "Squeaker, what's your problem?" I pointed to the security camera in the corner of the ceiling. "If what you just said is true, then I'm reporting you for stalking and spying on me." "If it's false, then you're spreading malicious rumors." The group's faces cycled between red and pale. They stammered, "We didn't say anything." "It was just a joke..."
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