Hide Behind Your Beautiful

1

The first time he ever saw her was sophomore year. She had just moved to their small town of one-thousand-seven-hundred-forty-two. She didn't talk much and the more he thought about it the more he realized that he had never heard her mumble more than a few words to a teacher or authorative figure, never a student. She was shy and quiet and obliviously unaware of her physical perfection. But she was a nobody, a loner, a social outcast because she refused to utter a sentence to a person her age. And him? He was senseless back then, too caught up in the limelight of High School popularity and wandering opinions to think twice about the fair-haired beauty who didn't make a sound.

But now, two years later, taking the name of a senior; he realizes the mistake he made in not patiently waiting to see what could have developed and he wants to reprimend his mistake. And now, two years later, here she is; the same transparent girl she's always been to the eyes around her.

Or so she thought.

Green eyes cast downwards, posture poor, she was the ideal example of a girl who was too ashamed to properly make any kind of contact with a human being. Her honey blonde hair was surrounded by a cotton gray hood and the olive tint of her skin was glowing with the overhead lights helpful hand. She was too beautiful for her own good, and so radiant that it made her ignorant to the effect that she had on the people around her.

Her pencil continuously hit the table and with each tap, she would blink uncontrollably. The kids sitting around her were mesmerized by the movement, and she was so oblivious that she didn't even notice the quarterback staring at her from across the room, something you ordinarily wouldn't see with a girl of her status. Charming football player meets enchanting outcast, it just didn't add up, but he wished that it would.

The clock tick, tick, ticks, and with each moment passing is another moment wasting away that he could have spoken to her, could have gotten to know her.

"You're actually supposed to know what you're writing about, not copy and paste from google," the teacher says frustratingly from the front of the room.

She smirks. He smiles. But both accounts of happiness are not the cause for the other. She is a girl driven by the desire to become someone other than herself, and all he wants is to be seen not for his jersey number, but the amount of love he can offer another.

"Redo it tonight and this time, actually read the material."

She raises her hand, and he watches her every move as if he's memorizing it. "How long does the essay have to be," she says timidly.

"One thousand words, not a single letter less."

She nods her head in confirmation, and his gaze never wavers. The bell rings loudly, resonating throughout the school, and the girl jumps up, gathering her things and rushing out of the door. Before he could even blink, she was gone. He slings his bag over his shoulder and runs out of the classroom determined not to be a coward this time. He's going to talk to her.

The hallways are overly crowded, and he keeps bumping into people who easily dismiss it due to his slot on the football team. Or it could have been his undeniable attractiveness, it doesn't really matter. He was almost even with her. His eyes are trained on the small strands of her golden hair sticking out of her gray hoodie, the only thing keeping him from losing her in the crowds of careless students.

Realizing how much time he has left before the next bell rings for class, he quickens his pace, wondering how the star player couldn't catch up to a petite girl almost two heads shorter than him. He's almost a foot away, he can nearly touch her shoulder if he really tried. With one last stride, using his full six-foot-two frame, he ambles forward; lightly tapping her shoulder as he idles up beside her.

The small action startles her. She moves an inch or two in the air out of surprise, turning her head out of confusion.

"Sorry-I didn't mean to scare you," he says, chuckling a bit on the last part.

Usually, any other girl in the entire High School would have swooned and dropped to his feet in wonderment, ready to fulfill his every wish. He wasn't the type to sleep around a lot, and didn't really hold girlfriends that long because of his obvious disinterest in unintelligent females, but that didn't stop girls from doing dishonorable things in his presence. What, with his chesnut head of hair and carribean blue eyes, it was hard for any girl to stay away. That's why when she stayed completely silent, he wondered to himself what he had done wrong.

"I'm Elliot Mills," he states hopelessly, thinking maybe that will ring the dusty bell taking up residence in her brain.

Again, silence envelops him.

He gently catches hold of her forearm, wanting to stop her in her tracks, but when his hand makes contact with cotton covered skin, he gets a reaction he wasn't expecting. She jerks violently out of his hold, whipping her head in his direction once more. And in her haste to get away from him, her hood falls away from her face, revealing a hollow bluish-purple bruise on her right cheek.

"Hey, are you okay-"

But she sprints away from Elliot Mills before he even has the chance to finish his question. Her absence, along with her mysterious behavior leaves him with an aching in his stomach and an even stronger longing in his heart to know the one girl who fails to notice his existence.

~ ~ ~

Quarterback, jersey number six, raises his arm and let's another ball soar through the air, completely missing his target. Again.

"Mills! Stop lolly gagging and get your ass in gear! We don't have all day. You think passes like those win championship games? These plays are horse shit! Get your head together," Coach Sully yells from the sidelines.

Elliot knows full and well that plays like these, and half-assed practices are unacceptable when you're a star athlete, hoping to be recruited to some high-up places. But as far as he knew it, his brain was no where near his head. It was off somewhere, drifting into a parallel universe where beautiful, shy, and seemingly pained girls didn't ignore him for no good reason. That's why he was lolly gagging. He just couldn't help it.

"Yessir, Coach," he frustratingly huffs, taking the ball into his gifted hands once more.

He makes another failed pass, shaking his head in shame when coach blows his whistle; signaling the team to get hydrated before some running drills, probably his fault also. His best friend saunters up to him, taking his helmet off in the process. Aiden Holloway was Elliot's righthand man, best friend, and long lost brother. If anyone knew anything about Mills, it was Holloway.

"What's your problem, man? We all know that you can do ten times better than this on a regular off day. What's gotten you so shaken up?"

Elliot stares at Aiden for a moment, watching as he shakes his blonde hair away from his forehead trying his best to get rid of some of the excess sweat dripping down.

"What do you know about Charlie Lann," the desperate boy asks his best friend.

"Charlie Lann?  The hot, mute chick? What does anyone know about her? She doesn't talk, that's for damn sure," Aiden huffs.

"She's not mute. She asked a question today in english class."

Aiden gives Elliot a pointed look, as to tell him to really think about what he's saying.

"I tried to talk to her today. She jumped at my touch, literally. And she has a bruise on her face the shape of Florida."

"Maybe she walked into a door or fell down the stairs. Who the hell cares?"

"I care. God, she won't even respond to a casual introduction."

"So this is what this is all about," Aiden says knowingly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You want what you can't have," Aiden says matter of factly.

"She's not a possession Aid."

"All I'm saying is, don't waste your time on something that will never develop. That girl is a vault with a fingerprint scanner. Top-Secret."

Before he can respond, Coach blows a second whistle. Time to run until oxygen is unable to infiltrate airways.