Blue

Chapter Nine: Puberty Blues - Part 1

Puberty.

Well, when the word comes to my mind, I think about the God-awful PE lessons where the teacher says the word 'penis' with such a straight face, that you can't help but laugh. The only problem is, I couldn't snicker with anyone. I had always been a loner in highschool.

Now, puberty came with a lot of other problems. Hair growing in places, bleeding all over the place, and zits breaking-out all over your face until you looked like a human pizza. Mothers who claim puberty is good, are wrong. So, so wrong. When they say you become prettier and get bigger boobs, they didn't give detail to the few who don't get the good qualities and only get the bad ones.

And, unfourtunately for me, I was one of those few.

I remember, after getting my first period, running to the mirror and staring at myself. I pulled at my blond hair, seeing if it was just my eyes or the lighting that didn't illuminate a supposed 'shine'. I poked at my cheeks that were beginning to feel oily and disgusting. I squeezed my breasts up, as if as soon as I'd let go, they'd stay there with a crease down the middle.

Even now, three years after I had gotten my period (I had it when I was thirteen), puberty still hadn't run it's coarse and I was forced to believe that this wouldn't happen to me.

It was sad, really.

My chest heaved when I sighed, my eyes scanning my figure in the mirror. I knew I wasn't anything special. My hair was blond, my face oval. I had nice eyes, though. I brilliant blue hue, but the only problem was that they were ungaurded and all I could see was sadness.

Well that's not gonna win me any points on my first day at school.

I turned around, wincing as my eyes met the bags that still had the expensive clothes stuffed into them. I hadn't unpacked it, and I wasn't planning too anytime soon, even if my mother forced me by hand. I felt as if they burned me everytime I came just a few centimetres away from it.

I turned back to the closet, my eyes searching for suitable clothing. It was as if I was back on my first day of Highschool, so eager, so excited, that I had overthought my outfit and it just turned out absoloutely horrible. The white jeans? Not good for stains. The flowy shirt? Not good when the fabric flows right in-between your locker door as you close it and tear a whole because you didn't even realize it was stuck in the first place.

So I opted for simple. Black, long-sleeved shirt, and jeans. Besides, there was also the protocol I had to go through when chosing an outfit. Anything that showed too much boob and butt, well, you shouldn't be suprised if people call you easy, something a little more sophisticated and challenging, you'll be named the next Lady Gaga and seen as a possible transvestite.

Too much of one color, you look as if your obsessed and hiding a dysfunction, wearing heals will make people think you're confident. Covering up every inch of your skin, you're a freak or a cutter, having too much eyeliner and you're suddenly a gothic emo.

You could never please society, I knew this. I just hoped I could satisfy it enough to leave me alone.

"Teal? Are you getting dressed?" I didn't bother to answer Mom because I would be ready in a second anyway.

And a second later (not literally) I was dressed, jumping down the stairs and raking my hair up into a ponytail simultaneously. "We have forty minutes, we don't need to rush." I told Mom.

I had forgiven my mother. Slightly. I still held resentment to the way she acted a week ago, but I felt as if I couldn't blame her. Her obligation as a mother was to care for her daughter, and I did understand where she was coming from, wanting to rescure me from bullies by making me pretty and all, but I felt as if she could have put it in a better way.