Perception

1

A life with beauty should be one of glory. Of fortune. Of glamor and glitz and everything good. You finally don't have insecurities for once!

But beauty isn't any of that. Especially when your looks shift to fit what each person wants to see.

Honestly, it's a pain.

I plaster on the most realistic fake smile anyone in this entire school could ever put on as I venture down the halls. People gasp and gaze in awe as I pass by.

I hate it.

"I love the way you dyed your hair," one bright-eyed girl says, staring up at me from below. "I wish my mother would let me do that." I say a small thank you to her as I pass bye.

No different from any other day.

The cafeteria isn't too far up ahead, growing closer with each step. It shouldn't be long until I'm forced to look around for the mother secluded spot in the area in a vain attempt to have less people staring at me.

Guess what!

It didn't exactly work.

A mixed boy, with a body slightly chubby and round and a head full of wavy black hair, sat beside me. He wasn't too different from the other kids.

He didn't seem to come over because he thought I was "pretty", which was quite a relief.

Eating silently, he stares off into the distance, pondering something. I look him up and down once again, but there's nothing unusual about him. So I pass it off as a mere coincidence and continue eating.

Maybe if I hadn't done this, his voice wouldn't have shocked me as much.

"Why are you always so unhappy?" I nearly jump, not expecting as much. His voice is in a whisper, so low it seemed he didn't want to be heard.

So I answer as naturally as I can. "What do you mean?"

"Your smiles are always fake," he says. "It's almost like you don't like the attention." I smile uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. This isn't a first, it's happened once or twice before, but I never know how to react.

How am I supposed to react, anyway?

So no one says anything for a while. We just eat in silence.

What does he see me as? I usually don't wonder this, as it often is disappointing, but I can't help but wonder with this kid.

Eh, probably no different than any other.

Out of wonder, I ask him, "What do I look like?" He smiles.

"You have grey, stormy blue eyes full of intelligence, and the glasses perched on your nose only highlights it," he says, words flowing out. "Your hair is a muddy brown, with streaks of natural blonde running through it, your bangs swept over to one side and your hair cut about halfway down your neck." He smiles, just letting it go. He must not speak like this all the time, with words like this. "You're not the skinniest, but your hips are curved, and your body ever so slightly toned." He inhales softly, before ending it with something quite unexpected, but yet to common. "You're beautiful."

I stare at him stunned. His face flushes as he starts to ramble on and on about how he didn't mean to do that, but I can't think straight.

He just gave me what I looked like. Well, a glorified image of what I looked like. I'm not beautiful at all, I'm just average, if not below it. I'm actually quite surprised at how good he was at using his words.

"Is that really how you see me?" I ask in a whisper. He just nods, his face red.

There's a beat of silence.

"That's really me."