The Awkward Stage

ONE - The Epitome of Awkward

My name is Delphine Victorian Hansel, and I am the epitome of awkward. I swear to God, I'm actually an embarrassment. I'm 15, but I look as though I'm 13, I have blemishes on my face, I love to read and to play card games, I love to participate in PE, even though I pretty much suck at everything, and to top it all off, I'm as flat as a pancake, so no boy in the history of ever would ever want to date me. I, Delphine Victorian Hansel, am the epitome of awkward.

It's not as though I don't try to fit in, because I do. It's just that I'm really not good at it. You see, I have been going through what my mother calls "The Awkward Stage" for the past three and a half years now. Not fun. When I go to the movies, I ask for a child's ticket, and they give it to me without a second glance. I have less curves than plank of wood, and to make matters worse, I have someone who loves to tell me about it.

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CHAPTER ONE - THE EPITOME OF AWKWARD

When I woke up I was in high hopes that I had grown overnight, but no such luck. I was still three inches below average, like the garden gnome I've always been. My light blonde hair hung dull around my head and swept halfway down my back, my grey eyes thunderous in the mirror as I stared at my less than impressive shape, or lack there of.

My eyes moved to my face and i bit the insides of my cheeks with disappointment. I hated my face. It wasn't a particularly bad face, however, it was the exact definition of... cute. I had a small head, and small features to match. My top lip was like a turtle, sometimes it showed up, came out of it's shell, and sometimes it didn't. My nose was incredibly button-like, and paved the sweet road towards my eyebrows. They were unpicked and naturally shaped, a little bushy, but that's how I liked them. My eyes sat below them, shock horror, and they were looking especially doll-like today; big, shiny, and rimmed with long dark lashes.

Some people may say that my looking like this is a good thing, but those same people also have no idea how embarrassing it is to be fifteen and still be classed as 'cute'. I can vouch for all of my fellow 'cuties' and say that it solemnly suck ass.

Heaving a deep sigh, I wrangled my tangled locks into an acceptable french braid, not bothering to brush it, and head out to find my school uniform. Also, another 'Pocket Person' problem, my childish frame does not fit into the regular high school uniform, so I'm stuck wearing one of the primary kids' uniforms. It looks mostly the same, apart from the fact that instead of buttons up the front of my school dress, there was a thick zip, from my knees to my neck, and it made me look like I was incapable of crossing the street by myself. That's why I kept it locked far away, in a box under my bed, guarded by lock and key, the latter of which I threw out minutes after purchase.

I threw on another collection if the school uniform and looked in the mirror. With my hair in it's casual enough braid and me wearing a child's skirt and blouse, I looked no more than eleven. I shook my head and shrugged the embroiled blazer on my shoulder.

There was a knock on my bedroom door and I called for the person to come in. I was met with copper hair, curled at the ends to form flicks that seemed to point to the sweet face of the beholder. My sister batted her blue eyes in a fae-like fashion and fluttered towards me with pure elegance.

"Morning, sweet." Clarissa, happily tapping my shoulder.

"Morning, sweet." I echoed the same words that we had exchanged ever since I could talk.

Clarissa pulled me into a sisterly maternal hug and led me over to my vanity, plopping me down onto the stool as she bent over me. "Now, lets get your face done and get breakfast. I'm starving." She said.

Clarissa popped open a tube of foundation and I closed my eyes, breathing in the familiar chemical smell of makeup as I waited for my face to be painted, the way Clarissa always did for me.