Not Pretty Enough

by Jaimie Admans

  Dear Mrs. Clemenfield,

  As the principal of your daughter Francesca’s school, I am writing to let you know that I was very sorry to hear of your daughter’s condition, Hairolitis, just the other day. I had no previous knowledge of this condition, but have since been doing some research and am astonished to hear how serious it can be. I have to admit that I am surprised and proud of how well Francesca is doing in school when she must be suffering on such a regular basis. I am also very impressed about the fact that she does not complain, and she gets on with her schoolwork despite her turmoil.

  You have a very brave daughter, Mrs Clemenfield.

  Furthermore, I would like to extend my hand in friendship to you. Please do not think of me as only the principal of the school, but as a friend who is willing to help in any way I can.

  Do not hesitate to come to me with any problems you might have regarding Francesca’s education. I have already spoken with your daughter and she now understands that my door is always open to her.

  I would also like you to know that I will personally deal with any problems she might come up against in her student life here at Bach Afon Comprehensive School, and the entire faculty will in future be doing everything we can to help Francesca.

  Yours sincerely,

  Arnold Sapsford.

  I can’t believe my fake website actually worked.

  My mum is staring at me like I’m riding a magic carpet.

  “Hairolitis?” she asks.

  “Um…”

  “You know what, Chessie? I don’t want to know. Whatever you’ve got yourself into here, you can get yourself out of. Don’t come crying to me when you get caught out lying to the principal of the school.”

  “But I wasn’t lying,” I lie. “There’s a website about it and everything.”

  “Hairolitis?”

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “Chessie, I’m a nurse. Don’t you think I know that there’s no such thing? Quite how you’ve managed to convince this poor man that there is I don’t know and don’t want to know. Is Hairolitis really the best pretend name you could come up with?”

  “I…”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Chessie. I’m tired of all the trouble you’ve been getting into this year.”

  “I’m not getting into trouble. My grades are still good.”

  “You get B’s, Chessie. That’s fine, but the problem is that you don’t aim for A’s.”

  “I do, I work really hard.” You know, when Lloyd isn’t sitting behind me, or in front of me, or three seats down, or in the next row. Generally, anytime that Lloyd isn’t in class, I work really hard.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, if it’s some sort of teenage rebellion, or if it’s because you need a father figure around, or what. Do you want to tell me?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “I thought as much. I’ve been reading some parenting books and they all say that I should just leave you alone to deal with it, so, whatever you’re going through, go through it quickly and get back to being the normal Chessie you were last year. I’m always here if you want to talk to me though.”

  I sigh.

  Are all parents this bad? It’s like you hit puberty and they suddenly think you’re an alien or something, just because all the books tell them that you’ll turn into a monster at the age of thirteen. I didn’t, and my mum still started treating me differently. I don’t think I’m any different from how I was last year. I just have more of a goal this year. I think my mother should appreciate that and be encouraging me to aim for something and work hard towards it. Okay, she probably has a career or a job in mind as something I should aim for, but isn’t it good practice to go after a boy? I’ll have to put that forward in our next argument.

  Not that she has any idea about Lloyd Layton. I can’t tell her. She’d probably do something really embarrassing like, I don’t know, call his parents or something. Or go to the school and ask the teachers to put me in a different class from him. I’m aware that she’s probably caught sight of my CC loves LL doodles, or my constant drawing of hearts with LL written in the middle of them, but that’s as much as she needs to know. I’m not about to tell her that I’m madly in love with a boy at school who won’t look twice at me.

  Now that’s a depressing thought. I have to move up to the next level. It’s the beginning of the new term. We’re all in year ten now. The only thing I’ve achieved towards my Lloyd Layton goal is that he knows my name. He still wouldn’t look twice at me in that way. Or in any way, come to think of it. The only reason Lloyd has to look at me at all is to say what the hell is she doing now?

  I have to kick it up a notch. I have to do something that he’ll fall for, and fast.

  CHAPTER 21

  October.

  I don’t wear a skirt to school very often. In fact I only have the one because I’m more comfortable in trousers, and it’s pretty rare that I have to wear it. Only when Mum gets way behind on the washing and there are no clean trousers.

  That day is today and there are two problems.

  One: I hate my legs. The tan from the summer has faded and they are back to being glow-in-the-dark pale.

  Two: I have my period.

  I’m always nervous about leakage at this time of the month, but wearing a skirt makes it even more troublesome.

  Wearing a skirt is not good at the best of times. I just know that people like Leigh will immediately notice and invite the whole class to perv on my overly wide legs. She knows all my insecurities and takes sublime pleasure in pointing them out to everybody.

  But I’m hoping I’ll be okay. I just have to be very ladylike and keep my legs together at all times, and be extra careful when sitting down or getting up. I’ve even been practising that part. I’m ninety-five percent sure that I’ll be able to sit at a desk without flashing my knickers.

  At least I’ve got a note from my mother to get out of swimming today.

  Swimming is such an embarrassing lesson that it should be banned at all costs. I think the school curriculum should be more considerate of women’s problems. Every week at least one girl is sitting out because it’s that time of the month. Everybody in class knows that any girl sitting on the poolside watching instead of swimming has her period. We all go through it every month. Afterwards the boys avoid you like a leper for a few days. Because they all know. Teachers just don’t realise that we don’t want to sit by the side of the pool. We may as well be holding a big sign that reads, “I have my period. Laugh at me.”

  By the time I get to school I’ve realised that the skirt thing may not be entirely bad. I feel really self-conscious, but so far I’ve managed to sit daintily on the bus and I’m trying to be all elegant and ladylike instead of all tomboyish and clunky like I usually am.

  I’ve even got a couple of appreciative glances from immature year sevens. At first I thought that I might’ve had toilet paper trailing out of my knickers, but Debs assured me that they were appreciative glances, and there was a possible wolf whistle from a bloke on some scaffolding as we walked to the bus stop this morning, which I thought was flattering but Debs said was an owl.

  So I’m thinking that I might be able to swing this to my advantage. Skirt wearing could even become a regular thing. I’m going to try sashaying past Lloyd Layton appealingly, and maybe he’ll realise that I am actually a female of the variety that he is generally attracted to, and not just some completely asexual object like a coffee table.

  It’s Monday morning so we have English first lesson. Lloyd is already sitting at his desk and deep in conversation with Darren when I get to class, so it’s a little pointless sashaying anywhere. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this year it’s that when boys start talking about the football match that was on this weekend, you may as well not exist.

  In fact, Lloyd doesn’t look up from his book all lesson, and as we leave after the buzzer has gone, he and Darren resume their conversation and Lloyd doesn’t so much
as glance in my direction.

  Oh well. He’ll notice me next lesson, because it’s swimming, and I’ll be sitting on the side of the pool with the other girls who obviously have their period this week.

  When we get into the changing rooms, I go through the usual monthly routine of grabbing Miss Raine when she’s not talking to anyone else and handing her the note that says I have my period and can’t partake in swimming this week.

  “That’s fine, Chessie,” Miss Raine says. “You can help me instead.”

  “Okay.” Wait… help her? That’s not sitting in a chair on the side of the pool with my legs crossed gracefully. That’s, well, I don’t know what that is, but it probably involves moving. And that can’t be good.

  I’ve had to take my shoes and socks off, and wait at the side of the pool. Once everyone else is in the water, Miss Raine makes me come and stand next to her. “Right everyone,” she yells. She’s another one who will never require the use of a loudspeaker. “Chessie is going to be my assistant today.” She turns to me. “Hand these out. Make sure everyone has one.”

  She practically throws a pile of foam floats at me and I flounder to catch them. “The rest are in the supply closet, please get them quickly.”

  I walk down the edge of the pool, lobbing the floats in the direction of everyone. Lloyd doesn’t even look up when I throw one to him. I have to do another two journeys to get the rest of the floats. I’m on my way back up for the third lot when disaster strikes. I’m not really concentrating on where I’m going. Lloyd is in the far corner of the swimming pool, surrounded by his usual gang of boy mates, and he’s showing off his skills and cute bum by repeatedly diving down to the bottom of the pool and coming back up looking all sexy with wet hair in his eyes and flushed cheeks. Of course, he’s also wearing nothing but swimming shorts. It’s very distracting.

  And then Miss Raine blows her whistle. “Chessie!”

  It makes me jump, and I slip on the wet tiles.

  I fall into the pool.

  My skirt ends up around my ears.

  I come up from under the water, sputtering and gasping for air. I can’t believe I just did that in front of Lloyd Layton.

  “Chessie, are you all right?” Miss Raine is yelling in her megaphone voice.

  I’m just about to tell her that I’m fine when I notice something.

  There are bubbles coming up near me, and when I look down, I can see something red under the water. I feel my head, thinking that my hairband must have come off or something, but there is white on the thing too.

  It rises up to the surface and floats.

  Suddenly Leigh lets out a shriek and everybody around me starts clambering and swimming and pushing to get to the other end of the pool. What the hell is going on?

  I look around, expecting to see a giant spider has entered the water or something equally scary to cause such mass panic.

  And then I realise. The thing in the water.

  It is my sanitary towel.

  My red, bloody, sanitary towel has detached itself from my knickers and is currently floating away from me, in – OH GOD – Lloyd’s direction.

  Oh. My. God.

  “Everybody calm down!” Miss Raine is yelling.

  I stay frozen in the water, too embarrassed to move. What do I do? What do I do?

  All I can do is look at Lloyd, who has climbed out of the pool and is standing on the side with his mates, looking on in horror.

  “Chessie.” Miss Raine is crouched down on the poolside and is holding her hand out to me. “Come on, get out,” she says in the kindest voice I’ve ever heard her use.

  I stare at the sanitary towel for a moment longer. I can’t believe this happened to me. Of all the improbable things to happen, it had to be this. It had to happen to me. And it had to happen directly in front of Lloyd Layton.

  “Chessie,” Miss Raine prompts.

  I grab at the towel and clench it in my fist, trying to curl it up into a ball in my hand so that no one sees it again. Of course, the damn thing has expanded with the water, and this just serves to squeeze more blood out of it, which seeps into the water.

  Reluctantly I take Miss Raine’s hand and pull myself out of the water.

  “Go and wait in the changing room,” she says to me quietly. “There’s a spare towel in the supply closet, dry yourself off and I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  I walk as quickly and quietly as possible out of the pool with my head down so I won’t have to make eye contact with anyone, but my wet sloppy clothes are making smacking noises as they cling to me and I know the entire class has their eyes fixed on me. Eventually I hear a giggle, and once one person giggles, it’s a matter of mere seconds before the entire class is rolling up in fits of laughter.

  “Enough!” Miss Raine yells. “Everybody back in the water, NOW!”

  “I’m not getting in there,” I hear Leigh say. “It has her blood in it. Who knows what we could catch.”

  I hear a few murmurs of agreement go through the class, but I don’t want to hear anymore. I run into the changing room to get away from them.

  I’m still clinging to the sanitary towel, which is leaking slightly pink water everywhere. I dump it in the bin and push it down as hard as I can. Stupid, stupid thing.

  I lock myself in one of the toilet cubicles and sit on the closed lid, shivering in my wet clothes and wondering how hard it would be to climb out of the window and run away, just so I never have to see anyone from my class again.

  “Chessie?” Miss Raine knocks on the door. “Are you okay?”

  “Go away,” I say, not even caring that you get in serious trouble for talking to teachers like that.

  “Here’s the towel,” she says. “I’m going to throw it over the top of the door, okay?”

  I grab the towel as she flings it.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, wrapping myself in it.

  “I don’t suppose you have any spare clothes with you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go up to the lost and found box and find you a spare uniform to wear. Sit tight, okay? And take your wet clothes off before you catch a cold.”

  I do as she says while I wait for her to come back. I stand in my wet bra and knickers, attempting to wring the water out of my hair when Miss Raine knocks on the door again.

  “Here,” she says. “There’s a boys polo shirt and a pair of trousers that will probably fit you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I brought you another sanitary towel in case you didn’t have a spare.”

  Her arm comes under the door and hands it to me. I blush bright red at the sight of it, but take it off her anyway.

  “I’m sorry I can’t find you any underwear,” she says. “But if you come up to the staff room, I have a hairdryer. You could try drying yours with that.”

  I don’t say anything for a while.

  “It’s going to be breaktime in ten minutes, Chessie,” Miss Raine says. “Why don’t you put the shirt and trousers on, grab your stuff and come with me now, then you can dry off before you have to go back to class?”

  Bollocks. I really am going to have to go back to class today, aren’t I?

  “Okay.” I dress as quickly as I can. The trousers Miss Raine found me are a little snug and not flared at all so my bum looks the size of Stonehenge in them, and the shirt is completely shapeless and like a sack. But I suppose it beats being wet and bloody.

  I emerge from the toilet cubicle holding my wet clothes in my hand. Miss Raine gives me a carrier bag to put them in.

  “Thanks,” I say to her.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She must feel really sorry for me because I’ve never known her be this nice to anyone before.

  I take my bag out of the locker and follow Miss Raine across the yard to the staff room, a few floors up in the main building.

  She roots around in one of the metal cabinets and eventually pulls out a hairdryer. “Look, there’s a bathroom at the back there w
ith a lock on the door. Strip off and try to dry your underwear, otherwise you’ll be uncomfortable all day.”

  Does she really think I’m not going to be uncomfortable all day anyway?

  “Thanks.” I nod, still too mortifyingly embarrassed to communicate in full sentences.

  “I’ll wait for you out here, and I’ll write you a note to explain why you’re not in uniform today.”

  I go into the bathroom and lock the door.

  I’ve never been in here before. It’s not that posh actually. I always thought the teachers had, like, golden quarters and that their toilet seats were probably made of platinum, but they’re actually just the same grungy old white plastic that we have to use ourselves.

  I plug the dryer in and take off the old trousers and shirt. Both smell a little musty, like they’ve been in storage for a long while, and thinking about it, they probably have. The lost and found is a cardboard box in the secretary’s office.

  I squirt them with half a bottle of bodyspray, before stripping out of my underwear and laying it flat on the sink. I turn the hairdryer on them and wonder if I could stay here all day, pretending they wouldn’t dry so I couldn’t possibly go back to class.

  After about twenty minutes, I decide that I’m dry enough and go back out into the staff room. Miss Raine is still there, and now she has been joined by Mr Hursh, the boys’ gym teacher, and someone else who I think is a substitute.

  “Thank you.” I hand the dryer back.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I take the note she hands me and read it.

  “Francesca Clemenfield is permitted not to wear uniform today due to a little accident with the swimming pool this morning, signed Miss R. Raine.”

  “Are you okay, Chessie?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks.”

  Actually, I’m feeling anything but fine as I make my way down the stairs to face the rest of the class. The next lesson is Welsh, then lunchtime and double technology this afternoon. All classes with Lloyd. All classes where people will be laughing at me.

  Why is it too much to ask that we have a giant earthquake and the ground opens up to swallow me whole?