The Butcher's Daughter

Chapter 11

Growing up, Mabel's classmates had difficulty coping with her rise to fame. She was quiet, reclusive and deemed untouchable long before her first semester at Waterford Junior High. The Autumn that she entered the sixth grade, Mabel realized that she had grown significantly taller over the summer. So much, in fact that she towered over, not only the students in her own grade, but nearly all the upperclassmen, including the entire boys' basketball team.

She was teased for this along with her tomboyish and innately antisocial behavior. Rumors were spun, some more hurtful than others and although she managed to push most of them aside, the attacks on her lack of femininity were the most prominent. By the end of the year, she had heard it whispered so often and seen it scribbled countless times on the locker room walls- that she was beginning to believe that she truly was awkward, undesirable and simply unattractive.

It shouldn't have hurt so much. God knows, she transcended those petty words as best she could- until the day that they bled over into the riding community.

"Of course, Tavington wasn't invited to the Winter Gala. Could you imagine how stupid she'd look in a dress?!" She heard a sidelined competitor say. Most of the girls from her district knew one another and would bunch up together in the front row during state competitions. Mabel spent this time in the back with Buttercup. Regardless, their shrill, nasal voices carried throughout the entire stadium.

"She'd be better off throwing a gown on her horse and sending it to dance instead!" Another girl chimed in, repositioning a large bow on the top of her friend's ponytail.

"Right!? I doubt anybody would be able to tell the difference."

One of the girl's mothers approached the group. She had always been kind to Mabel and even asked her daughter to include her in their activities when they were in riding camp together some years back. Mabel was sure that she was going to stand up for her. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. She watched, anticipating the feeling of seeing her wicked peers being put in their place.

"Now, girls," the mother said calmly, "that's a terrible thing to say." Her orange, spray-tanned face rose so that it was level with Mabel's. "Buttercup can hear you. And she is a very pretty horse!"

Not only did the group break out in laughter, but taunting chuckles arose from the entire section. Mabel's eyes dropped to her boots and they remained there, locked, until it was time to compete. She talked herself up in the back of her mind. Her appearance didn't matter, only her score. She would mop the floor with those shallow, gossiping children with her flawless routine! The microphone crackled in the silence and her entry number was announced over the loudspeaker. "Number 82. Buttercup and her horse, Mabel."

The routine progressed. Just as she had practiced it, a thousand times before. Her inner thoughts were louder than the laughter that surrounded her. Every move was textbook and undoubtedly trophy-worthy. She managed to fight through the distraction- the painful fact that the entire state of South Carolina was laughing at her until she made eye contact with the judges at the very end. Everyone at the table, young and old, were covering their mouths and eyes. Their faces were red and mocking. Her scores were withheld as they negotiated and still, their laughter prevailed. Nobody had seen her compete that day, nobody was aware of her transcendence. They had only seen the joke and Mabel was invisible.

...

"I want something pretty to wear to school on Monday," Mabel told Giselle as they pulled into a well-loved outlet mall between Waterford and Pembroke.

Giselle put the car in park and very nearly squealed behind her teeth. "Halle-friggin'-lu-jah! You know, I've been wantin' to play your fairy godmother since you were conceived, Bumblebee!? Let's break out the sewing machine when we get home... and the glitter! So. Much. Glitter."