Yeah, kind of a short story based around my current failure in high school as we speak, I might continue this, I may not…Just a time waster really…Enjoy I guess XD
An introduction. I don’t really know why I’m doing this, or if anyone will even look upon this positively, or if it will be looked at all. I can be optimistic. So, my name is Sophia, I’m a 15 (almost 16!) year old girl from a small town in Australia. My town is one where people come to retire, the ‘Florida’ of NSW if you will. This place has had some history and significance that was forgotten long ago. It is now just known as a place that rains a lot and has more nursing homes than high schools. The sky is almost always a dull, depressing cerulean wash, this gives those living below it a similar appearance. I know, boring white girl complaining about life as a teenager. This ‘thing’ is saturated in originality, I know. But hear me out. I’m here to tell my story, whether you want to listen or not, that’s up to you, but it will be here. Possibly forever.
It always starts the same way. We return from the junk food infested, longer-than-necessary sleep ins ridden summer holidays with less than motivated clouded eyes. The ‘popular’ girls huddle and chirp about that great summer fling they had with that hot guy from down the coast at that same caravan park they visit every year. The boys do the same, but in reverse. It’s a ritual that slowly intensifies as the years drag on. Either way, the ‘cool’ kinds return to class cockier than ever, especially the boys. For some, the elaborate tales of their faux loss of their ‘v card’ will echo through the male hall of fame for years to come. Let’s face it, that never happened, you were too shy to talk to the girl, you possibly gave her a peck on the cheek at furthest, but the neanderthals carrying their rugby balls hang onto every word of the story, their stunned expressions giving away the faint hint that they believe the loser before them.
Back to the girls though, they are more honest than most would like, some times even down sizing the social significance of the past summer’s ‘extra curricular’ activities. Some sharing their intimate details with the group of back stabbing vultures before them. Ah, what a shame, those poor girls that still have faith in their ‘bestest friends’, for me, that boat left a long, long time ago. Then there’s your friends, the guys in your group explain how they preordered that new video game they’ve waited months and months for, you roll your eyes at them, but secretly love that they don’t act like the dogs on the rugby team. Yes, these boys are your best friends. The girls in your group speak about the great books they read over the holidays (the least academic reading a meager 4 books. Pfft) and the movies they saw at the local cinema, then ruin the fun and launch into a full in depth debate about the ‘cinematic devices’ used that portray the original characters in that book that everyone was reading a few months back. I think you know the one, that book that once getting a good review, the whole of your world begins reading and jump on the bandwagon, the one about love, loss and all of that other crap you can’t stand. Yes, that one.
Then there’s that guy. Yes, him. The only reason you wanted to return to this coal mine called and educational institute. Him. You wander through the crowded corridors, only getting a brief glimpse of his face. Brushing by him, you inhale that intoxicating scent you’ve been starving from all summer long. You now realize the only reason you didn’t fake tonsillitis this morning was him. Class hasn’t even started yet, and you already have trouble thinking about what to say to him. But you know deep down inside, he hasn’t had a single bloody thought about you all summer. A sickly truth to swallow, you sigh inwardly. You know it’s true but you still make your pathetic efforts. His hair is mussed up as usual, dark curls fall over his forehead, his perfect smile greets the popular girls, who are all over him like a rash. It’s textbook, attractive people like to herd together. Ah yes, that’s why you my darling have never been a part of that ‘herd’.
Sure, you’re not that bad I guess. You are pale as a snowman, your hair is a dark golden brown that miraculously managed to turn into blonde on the tips naturally, your boobs are average size for your age, your skin is clear and you shave your legs...most of the time. Let’s face it. You’ll never be what he or any other boy in this school wants. Your an average looking girl. I don’t mean your face, I mean your body. The popular girls tick all the boxes:
- tumblr perfect collarbones
- tumblr perfect hipbones (demonstrated in their bikini instagram photos you had to endure all through summer)
- perfect skin
- thigh gap
- visible ribs
- huge boobs
You get the idea.... You look, well...healthy. A far shot from the other girls. Ah well, you can just embrace what you have I guess.
Class starts and it’s your favourite subject, geography. Not for the content of the actual course, hell no, you enjoy it because you get to sit behind that individual who you put off calling all summer, the one you encountered in the halls that nearly made you drop dead. Yeah, him again. You shrug inwardly, here’s your only opportunity to talk to him with a decent explanation. The old, “How were your holidays?” trick. You sit in your seat, palms sweating, you pick at your fingernails in a nervous fashion, your legs are crossed tight, trying to contain the tension radiating form you as you sum up the pros and cons before you lunge into the conversation. Currently, this poor boy has been oblivious to your existence for the past 3 years. What make’s you think he will give a shit about you now?
Sure, you’ve been catching the same bus for 3 years, and in the same homeroom, inwardly you wonder why you aren’t a cute couple already, you are in the perfect circumstances Sophia, remember?....
You stutter in your mind, trying to recite what you were going to ask him, how is that even possible? 7 minutes left of class, now or never. You think it over again and again, your heart is pounding in your ears, your throat dry, your stomach launching into your mouth, you lungs collapsing as the final bells rings. It’s time. You pack up your books in a fumbling, tornado of awkwardness and head towards the door, you see him leaving you launch to him, ready to go. Turning out of the door way you start, opening your mouth to ask that question you’ve waited 8 weeks to ask, when one of your friends has already beaten you to him. She’s giggling with him, touching his arm, he responds with the same enthusiasm. You glare at the pair from a distance, tears threaten but your rage keeps them at bay, you storm off to the girls bathrooms. You don’t care what you had second period, it doesn’t matter. Lunging onto the sink, you grasp it tightly with both hands as you look in the mirror. Face it Sophia, she’s prettier than you, she has a better body than you, but above all, she has the confidence you lack. That’s it, that’s what you don’t have, and now what little there was of it has now been shattered....This year is going to be a long one....