They call me Orange Juice

Orange juice. Oh, how those 2 words haunted me. Orange juice. Orange juice. Orange juice. Sounds just like Audrey. At least according to Ronnie. Scrawny, freckled, buck-toothed Ronnie — my fourth grade nemesis. Once he made this brilliant connection, that’s all he called me. Over and over again in his singsongy, squeaky voice. I hated the…