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At age fourteen, I was extremely insecure. I was the girl who tried to fit in by slathering on makeup and curling my hair every morning to hide the sadness underneath. Lack of sleep was covered with foundation and powder. My short lashes were given a false identity as I covered them in mascara. My hair, once smoothe and clean, was now burnt and damaged from my constant flat ironing and curling. I begged my mom for the latest styles of clothing and shoes, but no matter what I did, I could never compete with the people I was trying to be.
The first time I saw Atticus was on the first day of school, two weeks after I had moved into my new step father's house. It had been a long two weeks, with my mom unpacking and my two step-brothers, Cadden and Gabriel, bothering me in my solitude. I had never approved of the marriage, even though I knew my dad was likely to never return. Moving to a new town only fueled my disapproving attitude, but I stayed quiet. My last chance for a new beginning was at the high school at the end of my street.
After getting ready, I stared at myself in the mirror like I did every morning. Even after I had applied my makeup and sprayed on perfume, I still had doubts about my average appearance. Brown hair, brown eyes, only a slight tan. Little pimples dotted my skin and my freckles were more prominent now that it was summertime.
Makeup can cover your face, but it can never change what you think about yourself.
It was raining when I got to school, so I had to run from the bus to the front door, hoping not to get completely wet on the process. I pulled my sweater over my head, in hopes of protecting myself from the cold droplets of water, and ran towards the door that seemed miles away. Being the klutz I am, I slipped on the stairs leading up to the door and fell back onto my back. Into a puddle. In my new jeans. Tragic, I know.
The boy holding open the door for some of the students started cracking up at my poor, miserable self. But then he skipped down the stairs into the rain with ease, always keeping the wide grin on his face. At this point, I was trying to stand up under the weight of my backpack without falling backwards again. That had happened one to many times for me to count.
While I was struggling under my bag, the boy was looking down at me with his arms crossed. I hadn't noticed his stare yet because I knew if I looked up the rain would wash my makeup away, and that would've been terrible. But when I saw his hand come down in front of my face, I didn't hesitate to grab it and pull myself up.
When I looked up, I almost fell right back down. The boy's eyes were a striking blue color, with almost a turquoise gleam. Water was pouring down onto his face and clung onto his long, dark eyelashes. He had an authentic smile painted on is face, that made my insides boil with embarrassment.
My mouth dropped right there and then, completely and utterly crushed. I stood there like an idiot, my mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish, while water fell over me in a probably not-so-attractive way.
After what seemed like forever, he cleared his throat and began to speak in a deep and smooth voice. God, my prayer is that all guys have a voice like his.
"Um, I think your face is dripping off." He pointed to my cheek, letting out an amused chuckle.
My mouth closed and turned into a frown, not sure what he meant by that. Slowly, I moved my hands up to my face, only to pull back and find my fingertips covered in black. The remainders of my mascara.
"Oh my gosh!" Immediately, my hands covered my cheeks, embarrassed.
He laughed, once again, and shook his head in disbelief. I was humiliated, taking deep breaths and trying not to cry like a baby, even though I couldn't place whether his laugh was meant to be mocking or amused.
I was very hormonal back then.
Once he saw my downcast eyes and heard my hyperventilation, his laughter trailed off and he looked at me in concern. "Hey, I didn't mean to make you upset," he said genuinely.
I mumbled what I hoped was an "it's fine" and ran inside, this time careful of the slippery stairs. I burst through the doors right as the first bell rang, desperate to find a bathroom to fix myself in. Because I was new to this school, I had to run down the halls like a maniac in search of a bathroom. My wet hair clung to my face as I frantically looked around for a restroom, desperate not to have anyone notice me. My first impression was not going to be an insane, wide eyed freshman girl scrambling down the halls with her face washed off. Once I had located the restroom's entrance, I didn't hesitate to push the wooden door open and find a mirror.
The boy was right. My face literally looked like it was falling off. The foundation was dripping off my face and my mascara was doing the same, making black trails down my cheeks. The curls I spent so much time on this morning were flat, my wavy and frizzy hair now showing. It looked terrible.
Thinking I looked better without it on than how it was currently, I wet a paper towel and wiped off all my makeup. It took a while, but once it was off, I definitely looked different. Plain.
My face was red and blotchy by the time I was finished, but I ignored it. I would only upset myself more.
I braided my hair down my shoulder to limit the damage, not even glancing at the mirror to look at myself when it was completed for fear that I would start panicking again. When I was finished, I threw away the towels and hurried out the door. The warning bell would ring any second, so I walked quickly down the halls with the schedule and map I had received in the mail. I probably looked a slob, my clothes still damp and my hair flat.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I bumped into someone while turning the corner on my way to my first class. It was the blue eyed boy, the one who helped me from the ground earlier. He didn't look at all surprised as he smiled softly, his eyes looking me up and down. Then his eyes locked with mine and said with sincerity, "You look better without the mask."
