My waist length, flat, lifeless brown hair, always pulled up on top my head, plain brown eyes hidden behind glasses so thick they magnify the eyes making them look like bug eyes, bushy eyebrows, round full cheeks with some acne scars and a double chin. Nothing spectacular, glamorous or unique. Nothing worth taking the time to improve on.
Moving my eyes down my five-foot-eight-inch body, the reflection gets worse. Flabby upper arms that flap when I move, I’m certain if I flap them fast enough, I would take flight. Jiggling, flabby rolls make up my stomach, along with my huge thighs, round ass, large calves, all the way down to my size ten feet.
The piece de resistance is the two huge mountain lumps right in the middle of my chest. Most women call them boobs, I call them back breakers: my size triple D breasts. The only thing half-assed good about my body is my small ankles and skinny hands and feet. At least I can’t add cankles and sausage fingers to the list of ‘ugly’.
“Always find something positive,” Mom would say. I’m positive I’m ugly. I’m also certain that’s not the positivity she was referring to.
“Stop staring in the mirror, Ten, you’re going to be late for class,” Ronnie calls standing in the bathroom doorway with her hands on her hips.
Turning my eyes in her direction, I envy her beauty. Veronica “Ronnie” Leeland is the quintessential perfect woman if there is such a thing. Long, shiny blond hair ending at her waist and always styled with precision, big sparkling aqua eyes framed by long lashes, her smile lights up a room with pearly white, straight teeth and dimples dotting either cheek. Her body toned, muscularly thin with athletic definition and she is one of those people who can eat whatever they want and it never goes to their ass.
I hate those people.
I smell a piece of cake and I gain ten pounds of ass. Proving once again the universe does hate me.
The icing on the cake is, on top of being glorious on the outside, she is one of the sweetest people you will ever meet. Once you get to know her, you will love her. She’s nice to everyone, she volunteers her time at the local homeless shelter, her grades are impeccable and she volunteered to be my roommate and guardian when no one else wanted the job. If I didn’t love her so much, she would be one of those people I would run from. She’s a people magnet; everyone wants to be in her orbit. She radiates a light that draws you in and keeps you warm.
Tensanne Craig, that’s me. Seventeen-year-old, college sophomore. A child genius, the former apple of my parent’s eye and target of every school bully I came across. I’m the fat girl no one wants to be friends with, the smart one in the corner with her nose in a book. The one trying to hide, the one you laugh at when a joke is made at my expense. The one you don’t want to sit with at lunch or play with at recess. The girl with only one friend, the one never invited to birthday parties, the outcast.
Once I escaped high school and fled to the Hoosier state to Jalapa, I thought I left all the bullies behind.
College would be better, right?
Jalapa State University, JSU, one of the premier colleges in the country for the study of psychology and the brain is what drew me here. I could start over, reinvent myself, be a better me. Throw away the shy girl who was always hiding in libraries and sticking her nose in a book. I had this enamored vision of college being a huge turning point in my life.
College is worse than high school. Hindsight is always better, I should have stayed invisible.
“I’m not going to class, Ronnie. I can’t, I’m not ready,” I sulk, walking over to flop down on my bed. The bed dipping and the springs groaning from my weight.
Sighing, she replies, “Sorry but you have to. You’ve already been out for three weeks. Your professors are going to fail you if you don’t start showing up for classes in person. Besides, I’m sure the worst of it has passed. I’m sure the student populous has found something else to focus on and share.”
Tears fill my eyes, pissing me off, damn it, I’m not going to cry anymore.
Seeing my tears, she sits next to me on the bed wrapping her arms around me in a sideways hug. “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad? Really, Ronnie? Did you see it?”
“Well, yes, I saw it. But it’s no worse than if you had been wearing a bikini top. You know, an old, 1940’s retro bikini.”
“A retro bikini? I don’t think they had bikini’s in the forties. A picture of me in my bra goes viral and you’re comparing it to a ‘retro bikini’?” I sulk.
“Maybe you need to update your underwear collection. It could have been worse; he could have talked you into being nude,” she retorts, “You put your trust in the wrong person. The sooner you show everyone you’re better than their nasty comments, the sooner they will stop bothering you.”
Rubbing the spot between my eyes to alleviate a forming migraine, I respond, “He tried for topless, I refused. I wasn’t ready to be that exposed; plus, no one needs to see that much of me.”
“I wish you had told me Chase Masters was SnapTalking with you; I would have told you to stay away. Everyone knows he’s a player and a dick.” Frowning she continues, “This is my fault. I signed on to be your guardian, while you live in the dorms since you’re under eighteen; I’m responsible for
