We are the finaglers. The exceptions. The girls who have not run the mile in four years, we layer deep v-necks with excuses. Our eyelashes bat whiffle-balls at the male gym teachers. We are the girls who were taught to survive by using our bodies as swiss-army knives.We convince ourselves there is protection in being polite.We remember age 12 the first time we are cat-called, imposing bodies calling us women before we even had the chance to.13, the age dad says wearing short skirts in the city is like driving without a seat belt. 15, we are the unmarked tardies, waved detentions, and honorable mentions. 17, we know the answer but we do not raise our hands. Instead, we are answering to guidance counselors who ask us... Well... what were you