The Boy Behind The Glass • Stydia

11. first crack

C H A P T E R • E L E V E N

The day Lydia starts high school is the most memorable day of her life so far.

She wakes up before the sun has risen, spends over two hours riffling through her wardrobe, almost reducing herself to tears with frustration, and finally settling with a simple purple blouse tucked into a white tennis skirt. Her mother raises an eyebrow at the short garment that barely covers her thighs, but doesn't mention it as she excuses herself to leave early for work.

Lydia goes into the bathroom, brushing her teeth and fussing with her hair.

"Why do girls care so much about their looks?"

She jumps, letting out a yelp and smacking her elbow on the edge of the sink.

"Stiles!" She cries, clutching her funny bone thats sending tingling shots of pain through her arm. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Sorry," Stiles replies. "It's not like I can knock."

Lydia rolls her eyes at him, standing up and flexing her arm. "Shut up," she grumbles.

"So," Stiles leans against the frame of the glass. He's in the mirror above the skin, raising an eyebrow. "What's the sudden obsession with clothes and hair about?"

"I've always been obsessed with clothes and hair, Stiles. I'm a girl. That's what girls do," Lydia replies, running her fingers through her hair to separate her fringe from the rest.

Stiles scrunches up her nose in a confused frown. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are girls obsessed with that stuff?"

Lydia pauses, her fingers weaving her fringe around the back of her head in a loose plait.

"Because girls like to look pretty," Lydia replies.

"You can look pretty without wearing a short skirt," Stiles replies. "My mother always said it was un-lady-like."

Lydia clenches her jaw. "Well, your mother was born in the olden days. Now, short skirts are the fashion."

The truth was, Lydia wasn't sure if she was entirely comfortable in the clothes she was wearing. She's spent the summer in summer dresses and tights, completely covering and sweet.

But she needs to grow up. That's what high school is all about: growing up and being popular. Lydia has learned from the brutality of middle school that popularity comes with sacrifice, and that sacrifice is the sacrifice of your childhood. Lydia has abandoned everything she used to be, exchanging herself for something the schools society has deemed as pretty.

She needs to be skinny, pretty and confident.

She finishes her plaits, tying them up at the back like a crown. She smiles, satisfied. Stiles raises his eyebrow at her in the mirror again, crossing his arms.

"What?"

"Nothing," Stiles dismisses. He breaks out a grin, "You excited?"

Lydia smiles, puffing out her chest. "Of course."

"How are you getting to the school?"

"Jackson's dad is driving us," Lydia replies, walking out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"Jackson?" Stiles echoes, standing in the hallway mirror as she walks past.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Yes, Stiles, Jackson. You know, lacrosse player, handsome, popular—"