The Not So Beautiful

A novel excerpt

Lucky me, or so I thought. I was the first to arrive in the girl’s locker room, and was pleased with the prospect of getting out before everyone else arrived. Changing in front of others was an uncomfortable struggle. Those clumsy moments of accidentally grazing into someone else’s sweaty bare torso while I wrestled my own chubby thighs into my jeans. There was no personal space, no illusions of privacy. We were all animals, trapped in a cage two sizes too small. I wasn’t the largest of the herd, but certainly the most obtuse. Or perhaps that was just what I felt, the discomfort of being in a space that I never fit in properly.

I was finished changing from my sweat drenched gym shorts back into my oversized jeans and lumberjack style flannel, when it became clear luck had not been at work, but instead a cruel calculation of something far more sinister.

“Kasey, can you, like, wait outside or something when the rest of us change?” Brenda asked me with a disgusted look on her face.

I stopped rummaging through my locker for my old battered chucks and raised an eyebrow. How puzzling? Brenda was ordinarily a pleasant person, even to someone like me. We sat next to each other in geometry, constantly goofing around. She copied my work a lot. I never minded. I knew I wouldn’t get caught. Our geometry teacher, Mrs. Porter, was completely oblivious to everything that went on in that classroom that wasn’t within three inches of her face. She was ancient, older than dirt.

The rest of our freshman year class was trickling in behind her. I was struck by how odd their behavior was. Our changing room was an irregular layout. The rows of lockers were shaped like horseshoes, making it an even more awkward space for twenty or so girls to change in. The locker room consisted of five horseshoes, which we called cubicles. We were in the center one. Instead of my classmates heading to their specific cubicles, like they normally would, they all circled up at the mouth of our horseshoe, creating an impenetrable human barrier. There were dozens of them, but their omnipresence created a misrepresentation of thousands.

“What do you mean?” I wondered cautiously, like I was dipping my toe in a questionable body of water, gauging the temperature.

Before I could benefit from a reply, another one of my classmates, Marcy, interrupted, “Ha! Careful Brenda, don’t touch her arm that’s what really does it for the dyke!”

They both laughed heartily at Marcy’s nasty joke.

I looked towards the wall of my peers blocking my escape route. The mouth of the horseshoe faced the showers hidden behind them. The steam rose from above them, lingering in the air. The hovering mist refusing to settle only heightened my sense of foreboding.

My face grew hot, like I had gotten too close to a fire. Could they know?

I made eye contact with Marcy and Brenda, intending to confirm if my worst fear had become reality. The words got lost in my throat.

Marcy wasn’t kind like Brenda. She used to pick on me on the bus when we were younger. I was pushed around a lot back then. I had this God awful lisp in kindergarten, and even once I had managed to nix it, my reputation as a spitter haunted me for the remainder of my primary education. Marcy wasn’t the worst of my tormentors, but she had definitely played a role. I had loathed her back then, but it had been years since we quarreled.

“Why don’t you talk to Ms. Hunter about getting a locker assigned in the boys' locker room where you belong? I don’t want to have to worry about some pervert checking me out,” another girl added. A stranger, in fact.

Everyone around me murmured in agreement.

I had never told a soul. It was my deepest, most abhorrent secret. I began to grow suspicious, paranoid even. They couldn’t possibly know. They were just fishing.

But Brenda seemed to know specifics, like that thing about my arm…

“Hey Kasey. Lose this?”

I looked towards whoever had beckoned me. The most popular girls in school, Britney, Tiffany B., and Tiffany R. made their way from the entrance of the locker room on the far side of the room towards the front of the crowd. They stood proudly, towering over the rest of us like an imposing set of skyscrapers obscuring even the most stubborn rays of sunshine. The three of them were sporting matching tennis shoes and smug, evil grins that meant anything but welcomed news.

“Kasey, did you lose your porn?” Tiffany R., the dim one, asked.

She extended her arm to reveal her perfectly manicured fuschia colored claws were clenched around my journal.

My stomach dropped.

Giggles ensued.

A whiff of body odor wafted its way into my nose. There were far too many sweaty people too close in proximity to one another. I needed to get out of there. The second I did so, I swore I would take a luxurious, deep breath of fresh, clean air. How funny it is. The little things we take for granted.

“Do you guys want to hear a little something from Kasey’s Diary,” Brittany, the leader, mocked.

“Give it back,” I demanded, gritting my teeth.

The herd sniggered, louder.

How could I have been so foolish to leave my journal out? It said Kasey’s Journal on the cover, making it an easy mark for theft. Especially for someone with such malevolent intentions. In the past, those girls had heckled me for my journal’s army colors. I would write in it in classes where no one talked to me, which is when they would tease me for having no friends, and being so poor that I could only afford an ugly boy journal. I suppose their journals, or diaries, I guess, had some pink frilly nonsense on it. Yuck. I detested the color pink.

“Where was it again?” Brittany wondered, leafing through the pages.

“The third to last,” Tiffany B. helpfully offered.

“Ah yes, Dear J-”

“STOP!” I shouted, but the only one who was stopped was myself.

I tried to move, run, kick my way towards Brittany. She sank back into the crowd, out of arm’s reach. The eager to please mob pushed me back into my place. I was forced to endure the public reading of my most personal journal entry of my life. It didn’t help that so many of my classmates were able to mouth along the words to some of the most embarrassing parts of my journal entry, like it was an overplayed pop song.

Dear Journal,

Even though all the girls at school are pretty awful to me, well so are the boys too I guess, but despite that, I’ve always kind of known I think girls are pretty. I’ve always been quite certain that I never want to kiss a boy as long as I live. I don’t know; I think they’re smelly, sweaty, and gross! Sorry that’s rude.

My feet were wet. I shifted uncomfortably in my place, trying to escape the tile’s cool, moist surface. I never did get the chance to finish putting on my socks and shoes.

I guess what I mean is that liking boys is okay for some people, but I am really not attracted to guys at all. Like with girls, sometimes when a pretty girl is nice to me or accidentally touches my arm or smiles at me, it’s all I can think about all day. I’ve kind of felt this way my whole life, since I was like five. Well, today in choir something happened that made me realize I am definitely 100% queer.

Panic grew. I had to do something. It would only get worse from there. I surveyed the room, searching for any solution. I began shouting even louder. My continuous objections were washed out by the cackling of my peers. The cruel jeers and the stifling locker room humidity were suffocating.

There’s this girl, Mira. She’s really pretty and super nice, even to me. She’s not one of the popular girls, but she has a lot of friends and gets along with everyone in all the different cliques in our school. She’s just a generally well-liked person by most of my classmates.

One day in choir we were talking with a couple of other kids, and I made a joke about our music instructor Mr. Schmidt’s obvious toupee. She cracked up at my joke, and while she was laughing, she ended up briefly resting her hand on my arm.

NO! Not this part. I leapt towards Brittany, making a final desperate attempt at grasping my journal.

Her trashy goonsquad of wannabe Barbies pushed me back, inciting more malevolent laughter.

“STOP IT!” I shouted.

Others were keen to help. Marcy gripped me by my short, messy hair. I shrieked like a banshee. I couldn’t help but note how pleased she was when Tiffany R. snorted from laughing so hard. A booger bubbled budded in her nostril. Popping as spontaneously as it had formed.

When she touched me, I felt the strangest physical sensation ever wash over me. It was like a shot of adrenaline torpedoed directly to my vagina. I just felt really weird down there and kind of dizzy. I had never felt a physical sensation remotely similar to that before. It totally threw me off, but also kind of confirmed what deep down I guess I had always known about myself. I had never even thought about Mira before that or had a crush on her or anything. She is really beautiful and smells amazing, so I guess that’s what triggered that physical reaction?

I feel like such a freak. I am just never going to tell anyone as long as I live.

Write you soon.

Love,

Kasey

Their insidious, booming laughter echoed off the walls, shrinking the room. The stench from their body odor grew. My sweat surely contributed. I was dripping. It was too humiliating to bear. I wished I could have vanished into thin air, ceasing to exist altogether.

“Kasey the weirdo, what a queerdo!” someone shouted.

That was my nickname growing up. Weirdo. I hadn’t been called that in some time. Things had actually been looking up lately. Well, until this point. If I hadn’t been so numb, I might’ve laughed at the twisted irony of how dramatic my fall from grace had been.

“That whole thing is just so gross,” Brenda said, distancing herself further from me.

“What kind of sicko says things like tingly feeling in their vagina?” Marcy added with a lecherous grin.

I chanced a glance at Brittany and the Tiffanys. They were beaming, gleefully basking in my misery. I glumly reflected our complicated history. They had long since shown an affinity for torturing me, being amongst my chief antagonists when I was younger. It was like they were dogs drawn to the delectable smell of fear. At the moment, I must have reeked, and they were ravenous, eager to hunt.

All the other bullying I had been through was a dream compared to this.

“What’s going on?” said Ms. Hunter, our gym teacher, making her way through the locker and to the front of the crowd.

“Coach, we are worried about Kasey. Look at her diary,” Brittany explained in a faux angelic tone.

Ms. Hunter was also their soccer coach. She was basically their more loathsome older sister. She was perhaps the one adult who could single-handedly make this situation go from catastrophic to apocalyptic.

“No, don’t!” I pleaded, “Give it back.”

She hesitated, but then directed, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

A gnawing sense of dread consumed me. Her eyes raced across the pages of my deepest, most personal secret.

Coach Hunter looked up. Her mouth spasmed between a smirk and sober concern.

“Hmmm, wow, okay,” Ms. Hunter stalled, quickly closing the book, like its words might infect her. “Why don’t we do this. Yes, Kasey finish getting changed in the bathroom stall and then come to the principal’s office with me,” Coach Hunter stated flatly. She phrased it like a request, but we both knew I had no choice in the manner.

The rest of the girls in the locker room oooooooed in unison.

“QUIET!” she shouted, in an attempt to maintain some semblance of order, “Everyone, get ready for next period. Show’s over.”

They scattered. Rats fleeing a sinking ship.

“I think we need to have a chat with your parents,” she whispered with a slight smirk, just loud enough for me and her little wannabes to hear.

Ms. Hunter conferred with the secretary at the front desk. She pointed to the principal’s door and instructed us to both have a seat while we waited for him. We sat silently, anxiously expecting his arrival.

The only thing worse than the pit in my stomach was knowing that Coach Hunter was relishing this moment. She lived for drama of this sort. I swear, creating misery was life-sustaining for this wicked woman. Anyone who wasn’t one of her precious soccer pets had reason to be wary of her.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“I don’t know, can you?” she quipped.

“May I go to the bathroom?” I corrected myself, clenching my jaw.

“No,” she smiled.

I stomped my foot and slammed myself firmly in my chair.

“Careful Kasey, I would hate to see you hurt yourself,” she added sarcastically.

Bite your tongue, I told myself. She’s just trying to ruffle your feathers.

I could understand why all of those girls in the locker room laughed at me. Well, not really, but it made sense. Young people bully other young people. That’s life, but it was appalling that an adult, a teacher nonetheless, would be a bully too. It was pathetic, really. I would have felt sorry for her if I wasn’t so preoccupied with what the consequences of this rendezvous with Principal Price meant for me.

I looked Coach Hunter up and down, mostly to make her uncomfortable. She wasn’t unattractive; I suppose. But once you find out someone has a rotten core, it’s hard to appreciate something as superficial as their appearance. That’s what my Mama always told me, anyway.

Objectively, though, Ms. Hunter was attractive. She was thin, athletic. She had very blonde hair, practically white. She must’ve dyed it regularly because hair just isn’t ever that naturally blonde. She had cool, blue eyes, like ice, that were kind of close together, a perfect button nose, and very thin pale pink lips.

“What, are, you, staring at?” she accused. She had an inclination for theatrics, highlighting every word she uttered with a dramatic pause. It was her way of eliciting a reaction. A brat shrieking from lack of attention.

I bit my tongue, grunted, and looked away. I found myself staring straight ahead at a crucifix hung up on the wall. We were a public school, but I suppose that since it was Principal Price’s office, he could decorate it however he pleased. Not dissimilar from how students decorate their lockers. I wished it wasn’t there. It far from lifted my spirits. I could not help but think now that everyone knew about me, and that if hell was real, I was destined to go there.

My mouth went dry.

Principal Price waddled into the office. He was a very fat man, as wide as he was tall. He seated himself. The chair creaked, and I am near certain the room shook. Ordinarily I would’ve had to stifle a giggle, but the gravity of the situation had begun to sink in. What was he going to do to me? Could I really be expelled for what was wrong with me?

The principal shared a nervous glance with Coach Hunter, and then he spoke, “Hello ladies.”

“Hello,” I responded drearily.

Ms. Hunter flashed a grin allegorical of a used car salesperson.

“So, what is this incident in the locker room I hear buzzing around in the hallways?” he inquired.

I groaned. Any semblance of my social life was over. Maybe getting expelled wouldn’t be so awful after all.

Coach Hunter handed Principal Price my journal. She explained how my friends, especially her soccer players, were gravely concerned for my safety and well being.

I noticeably winced. The last thing I ever wanted was for Principal Price to read about the peculiar feeling in my vagina. He wore a mild expression as he read, which shifted when I suspect he arrived at that part. His face fell somewhere in between an unhappy marriage of disgust and horror.

He didn’t breathe a word for his initial response. Tension swallowed the room for what felt like days.

“Oh my, Kasey. I don’t know. This, this pornography! I don’t feel comfortable discussing this without getting your parents down here. Immediately.”

“Please don’t! They don’t need to know. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’ll take it back in front of the whole school if I have to!” I begged.

“It’s for your own good. Your parents need to be involved if you really are this unwell.”

“But, but, but…” I stuttered.

“Cassandra, can you ask my secretary to call Kasey’s parents in?”

“Right away, Sir,” she responded with a cunning smile as she slithered out of the room, like the snake she was.

Silence swept the room once more. This time I felt appreciation towards it, being too anxious to speak. I wondered why silence seems to make people so uncomfortable. I found it preferable to frivolous small talk, especially with someone like Principal Price. We were two people who could not be more dissimilar. Alligators to apples.

Principal Price must have felt differently. “So Kasey, is there anything you want to talk about before your parents get here?”

“I would honestly rather eat glass,” I blurted out. My hand shot up over my mouth, trying to force those foolish words back inside.

Principal Price went bug eyed. His mouth hung open, stupidly.

I gripped the arms of my chair, bracing myself for what was to come. But then my nerves settled. I let go, smiling to myself. A surprising feeling of empowerment took a hold of me.

Silence has its place in moments of peace. But perhaps at other times, choosing silence is more oppressive than freeing.