Ta-da! It's great to be back! I've been working on the concept and timeline for this story for a while, and I think it has *finally* agreed to co-operate with me. Reviews are much appreciated, especially in this early stage!
Chapter One
"Get out of the way, Frizz!"
Let me just say that I'm no Regina George.
Heck, I'm not even Cady Heron. At least she managed to evolve from her awkward stage. It's the same with Mia Thermopolis: she was clumsy and a bit dorky, but at the end of the day, she was a princess. Alas… for me, awkward isn't a stage. It's a lifestyle. You know, movies about ugly duckling highschoolers aren't accurate at all. Cady Heron, Mia Thermopolis, Harry Potter, Rory Williams… they give outsiders like me false hope, but high school largely embraces the caste system. You either fit in or you don't. There's no changing your social status in the real world.
Oh, and as for my nickname, Frizz? I hate it. Hate. It. Out of all of my short-comings, they chose to make fun of the one thing I'm the most insecure about: my appearance. I'm no beauty. My frizzy brown hair sticks out every which-way. On a good day, the elastic band tied around it doesn't break. I also have pale skin. Not porcelain skin, not creamy skin, just pale. My eyes are blue, but they are hidden behind glasses. Then, there's my wardrobe. It's…
"I'm loving the chic nun outfit, Frizz. Was Goodwill having a sale?"
… Well, we just won't talk about my wardrobe.
Head down, I tried to scurry away from my tormentors. Unfortunately, this prevented me from seeing the locker door that was directly level with my face.
Laughter exploded in the crowded hallway as my forehead collided with the metal door. I winced but managed not to shriek; that would only make things worse. It was better to just run away. I really am Mia Thermopolis before her life became perfect, I thought to myself as I tried to ignore the sound of people laughing at me.
I managed to weasel through the clustered students and slip into my next classroom. Sighing with relief, I sank into my seat at the back of the classroom. Peeking around to make sure no one was coming, I took a book out of my backpack and began reading, allowing myself to drift away with the words.
"You're reading that again?" came an incredulous voice all too soon. I looked up to see Meg, my best and only friend, standing in front of my desk. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You should have that thing memorized by now."
Carefully, I placed my book – Beauty by Robin McKinley – back into my bag. "It's a good story," I replied defensively, insulted that she called my book a "thing."
Meg rolled her eyes. "I'm sure it is, but come on, Christine. There are other books. Why do you like that one so much?"
Because it's romantic, I wanted to say. Because a plain, awkward girl, like me, gets a happy ending through her own doing. Because I want to be her. But, I couldn't say these things to Meg. My best friend wore her outcast label like a badge of honor. She constantly told me we should consider ourselves lucky to not be mindless clones like the rest of the student body. Little did she know that I would have given so much to be a mindless clone, too, if only to make the constant stream of teasing end.
"I just like it," was my dishonest answer.
"If you say so," she said as other students began flooding in, anxious to reach their seats before class started. Meg took her place at the desk in front of me, and once again, I was envious of her sense of self. People might have laughed at Meg, but her confidence never wavered. She had her sights set on college, where she promised everything would be better. "It's more diverse," she repeatedly assured me. "There will be more people who think for themselves. There might even be someone who's as big of a nerd as you are!"
Perhaps Meg was right. Better days might have been ahead, but that wasn't really consolation for my lonely existence in high school.
Once class was out for the day, Meg invited me to her house, but I declined, claiming homework as my excuse. She rolled her eyes, saying, "Alright, nerd. I'll see you tomorrow. If you get bored obsessing over your history paper, let me know and I'll come rescue you."
As I made my way across town, I almost wished she could rescue me now. Pulling the edges of my threadbare coat around me, I once again wished for a car. Maybe I should get Meg to just give me a ride. That thought was banished immediately. No, if I did that, Meg would know where I'd really been going, and then, she'd insist that I hung out with her instead, and I needed my afternoons to myself.
Approaching my destination, the familiar excitement crept through me. My aching, tired feet picked up their pace, ignoring the constant rub of secondhand shoes that didn't fit quite right. The walk was well worth it, though, as I reached the doors of the public library. My small town's one saving grace was its two story library. As I entered into its warmth, I felt like I was home. As a girl from a poor family, I could never afford to go to summer camp or take ballet lessons. Instead, I'd found solitude in books, the one place I could go that didn't expect anything from me. I'd spent many happy afternoons lost in a book ever since I was old enough to walk to school by myself. On this particular day, I needed some extra comfort, so I walked straight to the arts section. And, like an old friend, the beautiful, antique opera anthology was waiting for me. Gently, I removed it from the shelf. Waving cheerfully at the librarian, Mrs. Valerius, I headed to my spot on the second floor. Finally, I was tucked away in my armchair in the far corner, safe from mockery and expectations I couldn't fulfill.
I was engrossed in the story of La Boheme when I heard a voice saying my name. Looking up, I saw Mrs. Valerius standing next to my chair. "Christine, it's closing time," she informed me.
"Oh," I replied, disappointed. "I'm sorry. I completely lost track of the time."
She smiled kindly. "Reading that one again, are you?"
I nodded, reluctantly handing it to her. Anthologies had to remain in the library, so I couldn't take the precious book with me. "It's my favorite," I told her.
"I know." Inspecting it closely, she frowned. "It's starting to get worn down, isn't it?"
I blushed. "That might be my fault," I admitted. "I'm sure I'm the only person who reads it."
She laughed. "I imagine so. Run along home now, Christine. This old book will still be here when you come back."
Home. With a heavy heart, I stepped back into the frigid November air. Leaving the library, I felt like I was leaving home and going… somewhere else, but not home. I hadn't been home since before my parents died. Stepping into my aunt's house, I didn't take my coat off, for the temperature wasn't much different inside from outside. Uncle Mark kept the temperature down to save money, for with four kids plus a teenager, they needed to save as much money as possible.
"Christine, is that you?" Aunt Joy called from the kitchen.
"Yeah, it's me!" I answered, going to join her. She patted a seat next to her at the table and passed over a plate of cookies. "Help me eat these, would you? I don't want there to be any chance of the kids getting them later. Heaven knows they don't need any more sugar."
Gratefully, I took the warm chocolate chip cookie. "Thanks," I said.
"There's dinner, too, if you want some," she prodded.
I shook my head. "No, it's okay," I replied. "I'm not very hungry, and I have a bunch of homework I want to do before I go to bed.
She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling just as my mom's did long ago. "You're such a smarty pants. Your mom would be proud of you, do you know that?"
I smiled slightly. "I hope so. I'd like to think that I do."
Patting my leg, she handed me two more cookies. "Well, go ahead and do your schoolwork. Just don't stay up too late, alright? Sometimes, you push yourself too hard." Kissing me on the cheek, she started cleaning up the pots and pans that had been used to make supper. Guiltily, I crept upstairs. I wanted to help her clean, but I knew she wouldn't let me. Cleaning was her hobby, she frequently joked, and she was too selfish to share. However, I knew she was just trying to make things a little easier for me. So, I tried to repay the favor by never complaining and making as small of a dent in my aunt's and uncle's resources as possible. It wasn't their fault I had to live with them now.
As I lay in bed that night, cold and with my stomach grumbling in dissatisfaction, I thought of my parents. We'd been so happy. True, we never had much in the way of possessions, but we loved each other, and that had been enough. Curling up in fetal position, I closed my eyes and hummed one of their favorite songs, pretending it was my parents singing me a lullaby until I drifted off to sleep.
Posted on: July 29, 2015
