The Official Beauty Rules (according to Claire Mintz)

DEAR READER/S, BE ONE OF THE FEW WHO PASSES THE PROLOGUE! I PROMISE IT'LL BE MUCH BETTER LATER ON, AND IT WILL BE WORTH IT. IF YOU'RE PATIENT WITH MY WRITING, I'LL GIVE BACK TO YOU IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE! Thanks lovelies! Have a grrrrrreat day! xx

This one has quite a slow beginning, and if you don't like it please check out MY FIRST KISS WENT A LITTLE LIKE THIS! <3 or skip to the other chapters then come back!

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I still remember the summer I decided and concluded that beauty does not come naturally.

It was my last day of being a sixth grader. We had officially graduated a few days before, and yet the head of the school somehow thought that requiring us graduates to continue to attend school was a wise idea.

It seemed like any other day, with the air conditioning system not working, torturing us students and even teachers, and everyone sitting in their assigned seats which were given from the very beginning of the year. The only thing that was different was the fact that we were excused from work and journals and the immense misery of a math class. So basically, most of us had nothing to do aside from grieve about the heat and the ball of sweat stains which were forming on our underarms.That day had been distressingly pointless, especially for me who didn't have a close friend to share it with.

I was sitting next to Patrick Botfield, who was nominated by the entire class to be the creepiest guy in school, even though it was his first year. He doesn't exactly socialize, or participate in class discussions. During lunch he would eat at a random corner, scarfing his food down within a minute, then he would quietly stay there alone until the bell rings to signal that it is time for recess. Outside he would do the same, underneath an old Sycamore tree, by the fence which divides the school grounds and a forest. Rumours even spread that in his old school, he'd acted the same, only to plan a murder attempt to his strict teacher. It would be a lie to say I wasn't nervous at first, but after a year of being beside him, occasionally making small talk, sharing knowing looks when a student harshly argues with a teacher, and even whispering jokes, I realized that he isn't what he seems to be, and what people say he is.

I didn't attempt to begin a conversation, only because I knew for a fact that Patrick stays silent in order to compose music. I saw him once writing in this petite but thick notebook. He'd been scribbling letters, and I was wondering if it had been some kind of code, or if he was practicing his handwriting. I asked him about it, but he responded saying it was nothing. For a few days, I watched him write more letters. To me it was in between familiar and unfamiliar, which basically means I had no idea what it was, but my curiosity was really getting into me. I resolved that I would ask him until he tells me, and soon he finally did. They were guitar chords.

On that last day though, I didn't come to school to talk to classmates, or to play Scrabble, or to draw on the blackboard and write initials of couples inside a doodled heart. I came to finally confess my feelings to Matthew Zines.

It was in the fifth grade when I recognized Matthew to be really good-looking. All the girls did. He had the amazing, always perfect blonde hair, and of course, rich, blue eyes. Puberty hit him earlier than others, and it was obvious with his height reaching about 5'3" at only eleven years old, when the rest barely hit five feet. He played every sport imaginable, addressed all people with a smile, and I guess everyone liked him.

But in grade six, his good looks weren't exactly the only reason to why I had a really serious crush on him.

It was because of Patrick Botfield.

When the class prearranged together to ignore Patrick, I was against it. They were judging him without getting to know him first. It had seemed absurd to me. I thought at the time that if people said red velvet cake was disgusting, and others never take the chance to try it, then it would be their loss. I also thought about how disappointing it is that this generation has become so low. And I guess I wasn't the only one. Matthew had probably been thinking the same.

I was sitting on my seat at lunch, desperately thinking of a topic I could mention to Patrick to start a conversation. In my head I imagined a casual talk, me making funny jokes and him laughing hysterically. Sad thing is I'm not funny, neither are my jokes that should not even be considered jokes because they are that unfunny. As I was lost in my thoughts and imaginations, I was in the middle of shoving a baby corn in my mouth when Matthew comes. He approached near my seat with his usual, carefree smile. I smiled back at him, putting down my baby corn. I mean, who would want corn stuck between their teeth in front of their crush, right?

"Hey Claire," he said. I was about to respond back, when he turned to Patrick, said hi, and began a conversation. It was light talk, about the math homework assigned, and how confusing the parts of speech was. But Patrick actually spoke for the very first time. Matthew had made him.

The point is, I saw Matthew as someone different. He wasn't the kind of person who believed rumours and ignored new students. He didn't judge you, nor did he see people as ants that can be stepped on or belittled, and I am not only referring to size. He has a confident yet positive aura around him, and that was what had attracted me to him.

The bell rang, which signified the end of the school year and beginning of summer break. I ran my fingers through my loosely curled hair, hoping the heat hadn't made it staticky that I mirrored Medusa. I had styled it specifically for that day. I even wore my favourite lavender shirt, and flossed, and brushed my teeth at least three times that morning. I took a deep breath, repeated in my head that there was no backing down, and walked really, really slowly towards Matthew.

"Hey," I managed to stutter.

"Hey Claire. Have a good summer." He waved his hands as he was hastily heading to his group of friends.

"Wait!" I screamed, making him and everyone else turn their heads to me. I was different shades of red by then, and my vision became blurry. But at that moment I was already in, and when I said no backing down, I had at least been 89% serious. "Matthew, I love you!"

Yes, I had said I love you, which wasn't right because I had meant to say I like you. I was on the verge of dying as I held my breath waiting for his response despite my humiliation, despite all the eyes, and despite my pride.

He laughed, but it wasn't the cute kind. It sounded harsh, like he intentionally wanted to offend me with the sound. "You love me?" He said mockingly. "Have you seen yourself?"

I was taken aback at first. It took quite a while for his words to register in my head, maybe because I had a slight headache, and mostly because I hadn't expected them to come out from his mouth. And for the very first time, he didn't seem like the perfect person I had perceived him to be. It wasn't the perfect day. It wasn't the perfect timing. It wasn't the perfect confession.

I wasn't the perfect girl.

With all my strength, I ran away from the laughter. I ran away from Matthew Zines.

I reached my home, tears streaming down my face. I went straight for my bedroom, silently broke down for a few minutes which to me had felt like hours. Once I had calmed down, I stood up and looked at myself in front of my full body length mirror.

My short, auburn, curled hair was staticky. I did look like Medusa.

Bags under my eyes made it look like I had been punched severely by a body builder.

My legs and arms were of a gorilla's.

I was at least twenty pounds overweight.

Beauty does not come naturally.

But I'm Claire Mintz. Natural beauty will come to me.