When I am five， I wear cat-eyed， horn-rimmed glasses. My long brown hair hangs stringy around my chubby cheeks. My mother says， \"Don't be ugly，\" when I start to get whiney3 or am tempted to be bad. But I am ugly because I am called ugly names. Ugly. Motor-mouth4. Stupid. Four-eyes. I run around the playground with the names echoing through my head. I climb onto the monkey bars， reaching to pull myself up high. Four-eyes. I hate my glasses. My glasses are ugly. I have to wear glasses like my brother. My brother is ugly， too. We are ugly and we live in an ugly house. Everything is ugly.