Average Girl

Chapter 1 - List Ten Things You Like About Yourself

I stare at the page that has seven words written on it, stating my task for class. I stare some more. I stare so much that my eyes go blurry. I blink. I lose the competition.

"List ten things you like about yourself."

I write "1." on the next line hoping that will get the ball rolling. I close my eyes and picture my body in the mirror on the back of my wardrobe door. I open my eyes again. I furrow my brow and try to think about my personality, who I'm like as a person. I can't come up with anything likeable.

It's been five minutes and my page has the same amount of words on it. I wipe a stray tear as inconspicuously as I can, and sit up as Mrs Hallihan calls the class to order from her perch on the desk at the front of the classroom.

"Okay, so hopefully you have all written something down," she begins. "We're now going to go around the room and we're each going to say one thing that we've written down."

My breath catches. I don't have anything. She can't make me read something that I haven't written. I look around at everyone, my eyes wild, trying to see if anyone else is freaking out. Mostly I just see a lot of uncomfortable faces, but no one is outright panicking.

Mrs Hallihan points to each person and they read one thing off their list. Some of them are said jokingly and everyone laughs, some things are really serious and everyone sits somberly, nodding their heads like the great philosophers they are. Mostly people stare around the classroom, or they slump, or they have a staring competition with their book.

Everyone says something. I'm the last one. Mrs Hallihan points at me, I open my mouth thinking maybe something will just burst out of me, and I say nothing.

Mrs Hallihan looks confused. "What have you got written down, Abbie?"

"Nothing," I whisper.

She pushes her hair behind her ears and jumps off her desk. She walks over to me, and bends over next to my desk. I can smell her perfume wafting off her, and as she looks at me and begins to speak I feel the tears bubble up. I stand up, my chair falling over on the carpet and I run out of the room, leaving everyone in a state of shock.

I sprint to the bathroom, tears sliding down my cheeks in quick succession. When I get inside, I stand in front of the sinks and look at myself in the mirror. I try to see at least one thing that I could maybe like about myself. I can't find anything. All I can see is blonde, almost brown hair, that hangs in waves that any other girl might have made pretty, but I make messy and try-hard. I see brown eyes, with creases in the corners. I see a pig nose above a small, thin mouth. I see chubby cheeks, and I see a mile-long forehead covered in pimples.

I see an ugly girl, who can never be pretty, never be loved, never be anything. And I hate myself for it.