Revenge of the Girl with the Great Personality

Chapter 3: The Good, The Bad, and The Great Personality

I used to think that I could someday have a shot with Logan. Like if Alyssa got carted off to someplace that didn’t have phone or Internet access . . . and you couldn’t get there by any known means of transportation. Everybody can have a dream. But then I overheard Logan talking to Grant Christensen in the hallway at school before Homecoming this year. When I heard Logan say my name, I hid behind a pillar to listen in on his conversation. As one does.

“Why don’t you ask Lexi?” Logan said.

“Lexi Anderson?” I couldn’t see what Grant’s face looked like, but from the sound of his voice, he didn’t seem pleased by Logan’s suggestion.

“Yeah, she’s the best.” My heart flew up into my throat. “She’s super funny and has such a great personality.”

And there it was.

Great Personality.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard this phrase. It wasn’t even the worst circumstance in which it had been used. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

Oh, I’m aware that’s a compliment. Really. Much better than having a bad personality or, in the case of some girls at my school, no personality at all. But still. When a guy uses great personality to describe a girl, it’s the polite way of saying fat and ugly.

Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh, but Logan was basically saying, Lexi is great to hang out with, someone who can keep a conversation going, but she isn’t someone you’d want to date. She’s not one of those girls.

 In other words, I’m the girl that all the guys go to because, well, I’m the cool chick who they can talk to about the girl they really like. Especially when their perfect girlfriend is busy changing into another pageant outfit.

I guess I’m not fat. I don’t need a forklift to leave the house (although Mom isn’t far behind from that milestone; she now needs two seats to fly). One of the benefits of having a morbidly obese mother is that it has made me overly paranoid about my weight. I stick to mostly non-processed foods, which is basically the opposite of what Mom eats.

So I’m not fat and I’m not the most disgusting girl in my class, but I’m nowhere near the prettiest. I’m average.

I have brown hair and brown eyes. I’m not tall, I’m not short. I’m average.

And being average is fine and all, especially when you have such a great personality, but it means that I have zero success as far as boys go.

Are you ready for the most pathetic, woe-is-me story you’ve ever heard? I’m sixteen and I’ve never been on a date. I’ve never had a real kiss. (Getting chased around a table in kindergarten and kissed by Neil Blount doesn’t count.) I try to not think about it, because it isn’t that big of a deal. But sometimes I can’t help but fear that my life will one day become legend at LBJ High. “Did you hear about that junior who never had a boy ask her to do anything? She died alone, surrounded by her forty-two cats. Her ghost haunts the AV closet in hopes that a nerd will accidentally brush against her while getting a projector.”

I know I shouldn’t care and that boys are stupid, girl power, etc. But I want, just once, for a guy to like me. Or to at least notice me. I spend so much time at these silly beauty pageants, it’s hard for me to look in the mirror and not feel inadequate. Sure the pageants allegedly build self-esteem for the contestants, but they make me feel like a freak because I’m the different one there.

And believe me, I don’t want to be anything like those pageant girls. But it would be nice to be asked out. Or to have someone have a crush on me for a change.

What’s worse is that I hate that this makes me turn into a self-loathing, needy girl because I don’t have the attention of one guy. Or, if I’m being honest, any of them.

I know that once I leave high school and go to college, it’ll be different. There’s got to be someone out there who’s willing to give a girl with a great personality a shot.

But for now, I have to bide my time and wait for the moment when the Great Girls inherit the earth.