Perfectly Flawed

Unexpectedly Informed

“We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others that in the end we become disguised to ourselves.” - François Duc de La Rochefoucauld

A week went by before gossip about Elliot Saunders died down. In that same week my migraines increased. I had one once a day. At some points I had to get up and leave class because I felt so sick. Never before had I spent that much time in the nurse’s office. No amount of ibuprofen seemed to help either.

     “Do you need to see a neurologist?” Zoe asked one day as we sat at our usual lunch table.

     I shrugged. Maybe I did need to see one. It could not be normal to have this many migraines in such a short time and who knew what the consequences were for taking so many pills in so few days. I began to open my brown bag that had been packed for me that morning. Sophie had put the contents together. Petya had been seeing to Mom and Dad…well I did not know where he was. I heard him come home, but he left early each morning.

     When I opened my Tupperware container I saw a note resting on my sandwich.

     Don’t eat the food tomorrow.

     Confused, I pulled out the small slip of paper and stared at it. The handwriting didn’t look familiar. I had seen Petya’s before. It had a certain, jerky manner to it. The words on the paper were smooth and soft.

     “You know, I talked to Elliot the other day,” Zoe said, having moved on from thoughts of a neurologist. “And, he completely ignored me. What, does he think he’s better than everyone else because his brother died?”

     I looked up from my note and at my friend. “Zoe, his brother died. It’s not a trophy. He’s going through a lot so I doubt he’s feeling too talkative.”

     She looked at me with a frown. “He should want someone to talk to.” Then her eyes locked in on my note. “What’s that?”

     “Huh? Oh, nothing,” I said, crumbling up the paper and dropping it into my lunch bag. “Just something from my mom about being out tonight.”

     Zoe nodded her head and then was on a new topic: her drama class. Apparently Mr. Smith was still not convinced about her theatrical flair.

Don’t eat the food tomorrow. What was that supposed to mean? And, who had left the note in my lunch? Sophie? But, why? It seemed like such an odd request.

     I walked into my last class of the day and sat down at my usual spot near the window. Mrs. Pruitt walked stood behind her desk and walked over to the chalkboard. She refused to get a white board for some strange reason. Mrs. Pruitt had just started writing on the board when a late student slid into the classroom.

     Elizabeth Adams, head cheerleader and fashion queen. Her dark auburn hair was pulled into a low ponytail and she wore a floral skirt, a button-up blouse, and a cardigan. As always she looked flawlessly perfect. Her biggest flaw was her need to be perfect. She had a lot of friends and secured her place as head cheerleader, which meant popularity. Despite her seemingly perfect life, Elizabeth did not have good grades and struggled to maintain her perfectly flawed demeanor.

     The only empty seat happened to be behind me and Elizabeth made her way over to it, smiling at everyone as she passed by them.

     “All right, now that everyone is here, let’s continue,” Mrs. Pruitt said, addressing the class and commanding their attention.

     I opened my book and turned to the assigned page.

     A tap on my shoulder startled me and I spun around to see Elizabeth watching me carefully.