Learning to be Beautiful

Learning to be Beautiful ~15~

“What’s wrong?” I asked a very disgusted-looking Gavin who was staring—or perhaps glaring—at me as I observed one of the several outfits that Pierre had sent home with me after our second lesson: fashion.

“What are you wearing?” As he asked the question, he moved from his leaning position against my door frame and walked in to sit on my bed.

“Something Pierre gave me; why? Do you not like it?” I twirled in front of my full-length mirror. Honestly, I liked it. I thought the deep blue complimented my lighter hair nicely.

“No, it’s not that…” Gavin’s face contradicted his words.

“Then what’s up?” I sat down next to him on the full-sized bed and started to fiddle with a loose, violet thread.

“You just look… girly.” His nose wrinkled at the word and I laughed.

“Idiot, I am a girl.” Playfully smacking him upside the head I turned over so that I was lying down on my stomach, my head near the foot of the bed.

“No, no, no… I mean… You just,” he frowned and scratched the back of his head with the hand he wasn’t using to prop himself up, “You don’t look like you.”

“Of course I look like me,” I smiled.

“No, you don’t. You look… fake.”

“Fake in what way?” I pushed myself up so that I was sitting up for the most part.

“Superficial. Phony. Shallow. Artificial. The list is endless.” He ticked off each word on his fingers.

“Gee, thanks, I feel so loved now.” I let my head fall back down onto the bird-printed comforter with a sigh and a roll of my eyes.

“You’re still the most fantabulous best friend ever, Ais, don’t get me wrong—you got me The Eagle for my birthday, you were a little late, yeah, but it was still the most epic nineteenth birthday present ever.” He winked cheekily at me as he grinned, “I can’t wait to see what you get me next year.”

“You are such a kid,” I still wanted him to elaborate on the whole ‘superficial’ thing, but laughed instead and ruffled the soft hair on the top of Gavin’s head.

“But you still love me,” he grinned and hopped off of my bed. “Come on, your mom is making pie, and we are the official taste testers.” With a grin whose size could rival that of a T-rex’s, he took me by the hand and towed me into the kitchen where my mom was setting out cork hot-pads on the butcher block in the center of the kitchen.

“Don’t tell me you both came down here just to try the pie…” my mom fought to keep a straight face, but a grin found its way onto her red lips and her blue eyes crinkled at the sides.

“Of course not, Mrs. P!” My best friend smiled winningly and spread his hands wide. “I came down here so that I could bask in your timeless beauty.”