What Makes You Beautiful

Riley Summers is your everyday overweight girl, who thinks looking like a model is the only way to be beautiful. In her pursuit of realizing her dream, she comes to terms with her blind belief of magazine covers and the truth behind what makes you beautiful. [Cover by Lucy Style]

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3. 2. You Disgust Me

 

The clock showed 6:00 AM. At least 2 hours before school. School. The six-letter word that dreaded my very existence. I hate school.

I got up and looked in the mirror. I hated that ugly sight.

Freshening up didn’t take much time. I put on my uniform, and prepared the same ol’ Bread & Nutella. Before getting out of the apartment, I found myself in front of the mirror again. I didn’t like what I saw.

The uniform makes you fat. The uniform makes you fat. I sighed. No amount of pretending could change the truth.

I came out of the apartment and headed towards the elevator. As I saw the flashing lights of the L.E.D. screen I couldn’t help but wonder that this elevator seems to have more exciting experiences than me. The day held nothing exciting for me. It was always the same thing. I get up, get ready, go to school, come back, change clothes, and sleep. In other words- I was a sore loser. A loser who made everyone look like a winner. I liked to call myself- The Playmaker. Someone who makes everyone look good.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. I walked out-

Thud.

“Can’t you bloody watch where you’re bloody walking?” an agitated male voice cursed.

My eyes fell down and I mumbled an apology. I could feel his gaze on me.

“What are you? A pancake?” he asked with a sneer.

I curled up, which wasn’t a good idea. I was humongous and no amount of curling up could make me look any smaller.

“God, I hate people who can’t control their bodies,” he sneered and walked off after shoving me.

I bit my lip. I had people call me ‘fat’, ‘obese’ and even ‘humpty dumpty’, but this hurt. It always did. I couldn’t be immune to the insults. I had a heart, and I couldn’t shut it out.

Slowly, I walked to the bus stop and waited for the bus to come. There were two batch of buses that operated at different times. One came at 6:30 and the other came at 7:30. It was the case at all the bus stops. Most people took the later one, I, of course, took the 6:30 one, which didn’t have a lot of people.

My school, Paragon High, which literally meant ‘model of excellence’ high school, catered strictly to the rich, first and intellectual, second. If someone was stupid or had below average intelligence, he would definitely be one of the rich kids. If someone was highly intellectual and did not wear designer labels, he would most likely be one of the ‘scholarship students’ who were admitted on the basis of charity or merit.

Yes, we did have a clique system. As you may have guessed, I didn’t belong to anyone. I have been friendless. The only friends I have are in the apartment in which I lived.

Oh. I didn’t tell you, did I? I’m one of the rich kids.

My parents own a real estate empire, and they contributed the Litteratum, the library, to the Paragon Institute. The apartment in which I lived belongs to them as well. They don’t want me near them so I live here and collect rents. Believe me, the people are very nice so I’m friendly with them.

When the almost empty bus arrived, I got up and took my seat next to the window. No one ever took my seat, mostly ‘cause no one usually came this early.

My school has an escalator system. If you are admitted into Paragon Institute at any level- Elementary level, Middle School level, High School level or University Level- you have a clear-cut progression to the next level if you can pass a series of test, which isn’t hard at all. University graduates can easily get a job and work at the Paragon Industries. It is a mini-kingdom on its own.

The bus, I noticed, wasn’t moving. It always begins to move after I take my seat. A young male student came running.

“Sorry for the delay,” he exhaled and took his place just diagonal to mine. My heart did a somersault when I noticed him.

He was gorgeous. Ultimately gorgeous. Like the ones you would find in the magazines. Messed up brown hair and rain-forest green eyes. The perfect height every guy should have. The epitome of human hotness. It is wrong to stare but at that moment, he took away all the air inside my lungs. If I were standing, I would have fallen down because my knees were shaking more than an earthquake can.

His eyes met mine. I sucked in a pint of breath.

I should have said ‘hi’ or something funny.

But then, he frowned.

“Don’t stare at me,” he bit out with contempt. “You disgust me.”

-x-

A/N: I'm not exactly good in writing Chick-lit. Erm.. Tell me how was it... Later!

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