I have a crush on the dork

Get up. Get ready. Look pretty

The next day I wake up 2 hours earlier than usual. I blink, staring at my clock. It reads 4:30 am. Sighing, I roll over willing myself back to sleep. My mind stays awake. Get up! Get ready. Look pretty. It screeches, so I stand up, sliding into my fuzzy socks. Why am I up? I flop onto my beanbag reaching for my phone. I find my fingers typing Joshua Yekcal on Instagram. Once again, nothing comes up, and I refresh the page. Ugh, why am I even bothering?

I end up in the shower, scrubbing my scalp until it burns. I lather my body in my favorite smelling soap. I step out of the tub, then proceed to fill up the bath. I slip into the silky bath, then shave my legs. When I leave the warm water, my fingers and toes are wrinkly.

The mirror is foggy, so I wipe it. I stare at my makeup-free face. Why are my cheeks so fat? Why are my under eyes so baggy? I swipe at my bushy eyebrows. I have ever person at school under my shoe. I should be happy.

I thickly fill in my eyebrows, and with an angry expression paint on my tan foundation. No one would ever know how pale I am. Holding my eyelid down, I flick out a wing. Mascara is slathered on, then powder and blush. I finish with contour and highlight. But I'm still not pretty. My cheeks are still fat and my under eyes are still baggy. My eyebrows are still bushy. Why am I not good enough? Why?

A makeup cloth wipes away the layers and layers of makeup. My pale cheeks glisten, and my skin tingles. I smile, and I realize I have freckles. A little rainbow across my nose and cheeks. I laugh, and my eyes crinkle in the best way. My lashes are blonde but long and luscious. I think of Joshua Yekcal and smile. Why am I smiling?

I blowdry my hair, curling it into delicate waves. I smile at my reflection. My skin looks real. I look real.