Plain Jane

"Girls, please, if you see anyone suspicious on school grounds, I urge you to tell a trusted adult. We can't afford to have any more disappearances," said my teacher, Ms. Anna. The disappearances had been happening since the very start of the school year, and nobody has been able to figure out who was doing it.

"It's a total bummer what's been happening to those girls," whispered my best friend, Monique. Monique has to be one of the most unique individuals that I have ever met. Her dark skin glowed underneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the classroom, and her dark brown hair created a curly halo surrounding her face. Her eyes were a dark, stunning brown, and she often wore brightly colored clothing. On this particular autumn day, she wore her trademark flared jeans, paired with a bright, flowery top. She also had a certain way of talking that begged to be listened to. It wasn't too deep, nor too high. She sounded almost exactly like the radio hosts that I always listened to after school.

My appearance and voice, however, could only be described as plain. Like Monique, my hair was a dark brown color. However, my hair was as straight as a pin and had nowhere near the amount of volume that hers had. I also wore bland colors, ones that entirely fit in with the rest of my classmates. My voice was also far too high for a girl my age. It was quiet and squeaky, and it was the reason that I never spoke much in class.

I wish that I could stand out like Monique does, but as my classmates have accurately noted I am a bit of a "plain jane."

I looked at her, nodding my agreement, then turned to listen as my teacher continued to read off of her attendance list.

"Blair Jehanne?" Ms. Anna called.

"I'm here," I answered.

"Cecilia Jensen?"

"Here," the girl replied, tossing her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and smiling in that suck-up way she always does. God, I hated her. I hated the way she laughed, never laughing with you but always at you, and the way she always acted like she was better than everyone else, even though I'm certain that she has never won any of the end of school awards. And I especially hated the way she didn't even have the decency to hate me back. The only person in the entire school who Cecilia hated the same way that I hated her was Monique.

I must have tuned out for the rest of the attendance, brewing in my hatred of Cecilia Jensen, because the next thing I knew, tests that I hadn't studied for were being passed around the room.

And that is when the cravings began.

The cravings had been happening all my life, but only recently had they begun to get worse.

In situations like those, there is only one thing that I could do. I had to quickly leave the classroom and find something to eat before I did something that I would regret. Luckily, I already had a bit of food stashed away in the janitor's closet for emergency situations like this.

So, I quickly got Ms. Anna's attention, and hurried out of the classroom. I rushed to the janitor's closet, said a quick prayer of thanks that it was Mr. Murphy's day off, and began to eat my food.

According to my parents, I was an incredibly messy eater. I had been for as long as I could remember. The messiness only got worse when I crave ate. Usually once I was done, there would be food all over my face, and I would be completely unrecognizable. Once, my mom almost called the police on me when she saw me after I had been crave eating.

I usually tried to stay out of my parent's way after that.

But at 10:00 am on November 2, 1974, someone walked in while I was eating.

And that someone was Cecilia.

When I looked up, I saw that she had turned as white as a ghost, and she stood as still as a statue. I realized with my messy eating that she must not be able to recognize me. I began to get up from my crouched position, but my movement seemed to break her out of whatever trance she was in.

"No!" she shrieked. "Don't you dare come near me." She raised up her fists, as if she was going to fight me.

"Cecilia-" I began, extending my hand towards her in the hopes of calming her down.

"How do you know my name?" She yelled.

I stood silent, knowing that any movement or response would only set her off more.

She continued to study me, then suddenly ran out of the room. I considered following her, but I knew that if I did, whatever she was about to do was only going to be worse.

I looked down at my unfinished food, deciding to leave it for another time since my cravings had been satisfied, then left to clean myself up.

The timing was perfect, because just as I had finished cleaning all of the food off of myself, a teacher walked into the bathroom that I was in and escorted me to the principal's office.

When we arrived, I noticed that several girls were gathered in the office, including Monique and Cecilia. Cecilia was crying hysterically to a teacher, and a wave of annoyance washed over me. I couldn't believe that she would seriously pull out the crocodile tears over a little bit of food.

"Girls, a horrible crime has been committed today," said Mrs. Prama, our school's principal. Several gasps and whispers were heard throughout the small office."Cecilia here was the only witness to the event." All eyes were turned to the crying girl in the corner. "You girls have been gathered here today due to the fact that you all have dark brown hair. Cecilia says that dark brown hair was all that she could see." The gasps and whispers turned to tears and accusations flying through the air.

"I bet it was Catherine!"

"It wasn't me! I say it was Jordan!"

"No, I tell you it was Blair!" My blood ran cold. Was I seriously about to be blamed for whatever crime had been committed?

"Oh, don't be a bunny!" scoffed Monique. "Blair is too plain to have done something like this."

"I guess you're right," murmured Jordan, my accuser. I let out a sigh of relief, thankful that my friend was beside me during all of this.

"Girls, settle down!" cried Mrs. Prama. The room went silent immediately, although the tension was thick enough to be cut by a knife. "Alright Cecilia, I need you to take a good look at all of these girls, and tell us who did it. Can you do that for me?"
   
Cecilia nodded, and in that moment, a fact hit me hard like a freight train.
   
She didn't know.
   
Cecilia had no clue who did it, and this fact became even more apparent to me as her eyes passed over me quickly, not even sparing me a second glance.
   
Then another fact hit me.
   
Cecilia is not the type to say that she doesn't know who did it. She will always, no matter what, give an answer, even if it is wrong.
   
"It was her," Cecilia said, pointing to the spot next to me. "It was Monique."
   
"What?" whispered Monique, the fear clear in her voice.
   
"It was you," said Cecilia, the conviction clear in her voice. "I saw you in that janitor's closet! You ate her!"
   
"No! No, I didn't! I promise!" Monique pleaded, as those of us around her spread far away. "You believe me, don't you?" she asked, turning towards me, the pleading in her voice incredibly apparent.
   
I stayed silent. I knew it wasn't her, and I think Cecilia knew that too.
   
Because there is no way that her curly hair could be mistaken for my pin straight hair.
   
And it is not possible for her calm, radio-host voice to be confused with my squeaky, childish one.
   
So as I heard my best friend being dragged away by our teachers, kicking and screaming and pleading, I realized that it might be okay for me to be a "plain jane."