Then her words struck me like a handful of thorns—it took all but a few seconds for me to contemplate the words she attacked me with—h—o—r—n—s—so that’s why they came up with that nickname. I winced from the sudden realization.
“Nice shoes.” Karen said nonchalantly, as she walked past me to finish getting dressed.
I looked down at my white-and-gray RK tennies and cringed. Apparently, I wasn’t wearing the correct brand. I looked at Karen and her friends, as they were each putting on a pair of stark white Filas, most likely bought from the same store at the same time.
I was about to leave when Karen stopped me.
“Do you want to borrow some of my lotion for your ashy legs?”
“Umm, okay…thanks,” I stammered as I hung my head. I was mortified, but my legs were dry and I forgot my lotion at home. She tossed me her almost empty bottle of Victoria’s Secret apple lotion.
Apparently she, and the rest of the girls, shopped at Victoria’s Secret…I wasn’t sure why, but the lotion smelled good.
At that moment I wanted to shop there, too. I wanted to be invited to go to the mall with them and purchase delicious-smelling lotions and try on cool clothes. I wanted nothing more than to be a part of Karen’s group. I was even willing to sacrifice the humiliation it took to get me there. In the back of my mind I hoped that if I was able to withstand all there cruel jabs and insults, they would accept that as my initiation and let me join. It was a longshot, but I hung onto that appealing idea as if it were a cup of water in the blistering desert.
Nothing special happened in P.E. Meaning no one bothered me during class. I felt hot and gross as sweat rolled down my back, under my bra, and through my shirt. Armpit sweat must be the most unattractive part for someone who sweats as much as I do. Why did my body produce copious amounts of sweat when someone like Ellen just glowed under the sun? Ugh. So unfair. I made sure my arms were pinned to my sides throughout the entire period, covering the large indigo patches that oozed onto my shirt. I didn’t want to give Karen anything else to use against me today. I would not be able to handle it.
10
Sigh. I made it through another day. Relieved, I looked out the passenger side window lazily as I went over the events of the day in my head. Picking apart the conversations, slight jabs, and my responses to them. I tried to pinpoint how I brought it upon myself; I couldn’t figure it out. I was lost in thought when my mom interrupted me.
“So, how was your day?” My mom asked me this same question every single day when she picked me up from school. My mom had the heart of an angel, but lacked in originality. I guess it wouldn’t have irked me if I actually had a pleasant day at school.
I provided her with my usual response. “Fine,” I answered, still gazing out the window.
My mom waited for the stoplight to ask me her next question, so she could look at my face when I responded. Worry creased her eyes. I must not have been able to hide my emotions. She was about to ask me something else and then decided against it.
She always worried about me. I was her only child and was very sensitive. While I was still in her womb, she constantly dreamed about protecting jewels—protecting me. Always running away from someone or something that was trying to take the precious stones away from her. Once in her dream, someone actually tried taking her gold necklace, the one with the sun-shaped pendant, and the delicate chain broke into tiny pieces. Luckily, she picked up the pieces and ran. After I was born she realized the significance of the broken chain—the broken chain signified the holes in my heart. She honestly believed that if she hadn’t picked up and protected all the pieces, the holes would have been too large to mend on their own—of course, one hole remained. The theory, although odd, was interesting.
A few seconds passed. Then she said, “I noticed the poster for the Winter Dance. Are you going?”
“Maybe,” I shrugged. Hiding the truth, I tried to act like the dance didn’t matter.
“Did anyone ask you?”
“What?” My cheeks flushed as I instantly thought of Conner.
“Well, you know it would be okay if a boy asked you. You’re so pretty, of course guys will be lining up to take you to the dance.”
I rolled my eyes. Oh no, my mom is going to give me “the talk” again…here it comes.
She continued. Once she started there was no stopping her. “It’s fine going to the dance with a boy, but don’t get too attached. You’re too young for a boyfriend. I don’t want you to even think about having a boyfriend until college. You need to focus on your studies. Besides, they only want one thi—”
“Mom!” I interrupted. Ugh. I hated it when she cornered me in the car for talks like this one, where there was no escape (except for jumping out, which I considered on many occasions). I had been hearing variations of this “talk” for a few months now, ever since I started developing in the chest area.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not interested in anyone and nobody is interested in me. If I go to the dance I’ll just be going with some of my friends.” Sigh, friends…I’ll really need to get me some of those.
“Oh, okay. Like Karen and Britney?”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to tell her that Karen was not my friend and was the reason why I was always so moody and miserable. Luckily, I was able to chalk it up to puberty and hormones.
My mom seemed satisfied…for now.
The minute I got out of the car, I raided the fridge and cupboard. I took out skim milk and double chocolate chip cookies…chocolate…mmmm…I was thoroughly enjoying my afterschool snack, already thinking about my next meal, when my mom came into the kitchen.
“Maybe you shouldn’t eat that.” She questioned in statement form. Worry was marked all over her face as she glanced down at my slightly exposed belly. I quickly tugged down on my shirt as my face burned.
Puberty seemed to hit me a few months ago and breasts were not the only part I gained. I started to gain weight so fast I didn’t know what was happening until I was twenty pounds heavier. I started wearing larger shirts to cover my tummy rolls, but I could never hide it from my mom. She saw everything.
That was it. I broke. Hot, salty tears rolled down my cheeks. “Fine!” I exclaimed a little harsher than I meant to, and stormed up to my room and slammed the door.
I plopped onto my down feather bed and cried until my pillow was drenched. My heart pounding so hard, the beat slightly off. Why was this happening to me?
I thought I was a good girl. I always obeyed my parents and teachers. Always doing the right thing and never talking back. I never worried about what and how much food I ate. I never wanted desperately to be friends with a mean girl like Karen.
It used to be easy. Simple. Now, everything was just messed up and I didn’t know what to do. I’m lost. So lost.
11
Once the bell rang, everyone jumped out of the yellow plastic seats. I still hadn’t figured out why the school did not opt for more appealing chairs to set beside their ostentatious, donated mahogany desks. I supposed they were waiting for the next “generous donation” from their parental patrons. I rushed out the door among the clamoring herd. Nobody was able to concentrate today. It was the school dance.
I decided to stall and stop by the bathroom before I went to the dance. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who had that idea. There was a line out the door as girls were primping and changing.
Karen and her friends were also there, putting on way too much makeup and deciding on what outfit to change into. Somehow she had with her a garment bag full of designer dresses. I didn’t think the dance was going to be that big of a deal since it was right after sixth period in the school gymnasium, but boy was I wrong. I waited patiently for my turn since the other bathrooms were probably just as full as this one, moving side to side as the urgency became apparent.
“Look, she’s going to pee in her pants!” Karen snickered. All of the sudden, four sets of twinkling eyes darted in my direction. More giggles.
“Hmm. She didn’t change out of her boring outfit so why do you think she took so long?” Karen was supposedly whispering to Tessa but she obviously wanted me to hear.
“Not sure…but it sure stinks in here.” Tessa chimed in, covering her nose.
Before I got to the sink, Karen yelled out in a sing-songy voice, “Oh Sophie, remember to wash your hands, you don’t want to infect anyone at the dance!”
“Ha. That’ll only happen if anyone asks her to dance.”
“Oh…right. That’s true. Never mind. You don’t need to worry about it, then.”
Karen and Tessa started doubling over in laughter. They started shrieking like Hyenas do before consuming leftover scraps.
My face flushed, burning a perpetual shade of red. I rushed to wash my hands. I didn’t even bother getting a paper towel and just wiped them on my jeans, leaving behind the dark, rumpled stains I so often wore on my upper thighs. Turning, I made a dash for the exit. My foot caught a lip in the floor tiles, causing me to stumble forward, triggering even more laughter as Ellen and Britney entered the bathroom. I could not get to the dance fast enough.
The gymnasium was decked out with blue and silver balloons, glitter, ribbon, and gossamer fabric to cover the tables. The lights were dimmed and a DJ was stationed on the stage with boxes of records. He was rushing to get set up but looked bored just the same. I couldn’t blame him. Think about it: if you were a DJ, why would you be excited to play for a bunch of hormonal pre-teens who had never done anything worse than kiss for five seconds on the lips? Chairs were lined up against the back wall and I zeroed in on the one in the corner. I sat there patiently, waiting for the room to fill.
As the gymnasium began to fill, I noticed the boys had the same idea as me and were crowding in with their backs turned. Standing in circles that coalesced and divided like oil droplets, they boisterously yipped and yapped about macho topics. A hacky sack emerged in the all-male droplet nearest me, and my mind sparked visions of a black eye, bruised shin, or worse, being jeered for ruining an otherwise “epic” volley. No thanks.
I got out of my seat and hurried to the dance floor were the girls were circling each other and dancing to Britney Spears, Baby One More Time. I tried my best to blend in. Listening to the deafening music as my body flowed to the beat. I was actually having a great time. Then the music slowed. Savage Garden’s, Truly, Madly, Deeply came on.
The boys scurried toward the refreshments, distracting themselves by getting a cup of fruit punch and some cookies. The girls started zeroing in on the boy they wanted their friend to dance with. It was a madhouse. Groups of three to five girls would run up to a boy, try to convince him by pleading and dragging him to the dance floor toward their friend who was acting coy and equally resistant (but obviously elated).
She probably dreamed of this very moment, except in her dream, the boy would have walked up to her willingly and asked her to dance in some fairytale manor; the moment would have been so perfect like in She’s All That. A few seconds more of coercion and the two, soon-to-be item, were dancing to the slow song…moving side to side at arms-length. The Pope would have been proud.
Scanning the room, I saw Ellen dancing with Brandon, Britney dancing with Paul, and of course, Karen dancing with Conner. The boys didn’t look nearly as thrilled as the girls were, but that was to be expected.
Most of the kids were uncomfortably, impatiently waiting for the song to end. There were a few more fast songs and a couple more slow songs. Then the dance was finally over.
I never got asked to dance. No surprises there. I guess I could have tried asking…no…I couldn’t…what if they said no and laughed at me…anyway, the boys are supposed to ask the girls, aren’t they? I’d just have to wait. Yes, wait…but for how long?
12
In the months that passed, Karen and her friends eventually moved their evil attention to another poor and hapless target and I was given the restricted freedom of living out the rest of my teen youth unscathed. I felt sickened as I watched from afar: Karen and her crew sneered unabashedly and tormented their new pet.
Stacy Ko seemed worse off than me. She had a round face and an upturned nose. She was a little slow in the brain and was always a full step behind the rest of us. But she seemed happy nonetheless; and, at least she was ambivalent to their open gibes and pig comments.
“Oink, Oink,” Karen would squeal as they passed her at lunch. I winced. Oh, how I wished I had the strength to befriend Stacy, become a thick shield to protect her, and if I only had the compassion to learn who she really was. Instead, I was a coward. A coward relieved, for Karen was able to find someone else to torment.
I later learned that Stacy had a mild case of autism and her interest in art was strong enough to send her to New York City with a full scholarship.
As for Karen, well, she got her fair share of comeuppance. Her friends turned on her; she had a scarlet letter branded on her chest like Hester Prynne and was run out of town before she could be burned at the stake.
I was not sure how it started, but petitions circulated with fifty to a hundred signatures from students who hated Karen Chu. Nasty lists were also created, such as the top ten reasons to hate Karen—number one being the hideous burn marks covering her body.
I didn’t take part in any of it. It was immature and cruel. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her in a way, but I also felt no real sympathy.
When I heard her family had moved to another city and she was now being homeschooled, I was relieved. A part of me hoped that she was the reason for my depression and social shortcomings. That maybe I wasn’t the wilted sunflower after all. That maybe Karen was just the thorny rose pressed into my side for so long, keeping me down. That with her plucked out of the picture, I would be able to let go and free myself from the struggles of adolescence. And just be carelessly happy.
The relief was short-lived.
13
As the years passed, not much changed; I was still the same shy, plain looking girl, with no boyfriend, who said little during lunch, and cried herself to sleep. I learned to feel nothing. To be numb.
I was going through the motions of a teenager: laughing when a joke was made, crying when I saw someone in pain, angered when my mom provoked me, and saddened when hope felt lost. But below the surface, deep inside, I had no feeling.
I always heard that teenagers felt too much. Felt everything hit them at once. That it would take years to decipher those feelings and separate them, to compartmentalize them, to control them. I wasn’t sure if this was just a false hypothesis, or if I was categorically unique.
I lived in the comforts of my parents’ four-bedroom, three thousand square foot house, surrounded by my loving parents, attending one of the best public schools in Southern California, and heading toward a life full of wealth and success. I lived in a bubble where parents actually loved each other and their families, where wealth was an afterthought, crimes were unheard of, and drugs and alcohol stayed hidden underground. So, why am I not happy?
To an outsider, I was living the perfect life. To me, I was crippled, a vegetable, anxiously waiting for my death. Please don’t get me wrong—I loved my parents, but I hated my existence. I would never contemplate suicide but I constantly dreamed of death.
As my mom drove me to school and back I secretly hoped that a car would crash into us and I would die instantly while my mom was left unscathed. I would be sitting in the classroom, dreaming of an earthquake to envelop me in its chaos. I would instantly feel guilty for having these thoughts and tried brushing them off, but they always sneaked back into the forefront of my brain.
I never felt like I belonged. I couldn’t relate to anyone my age. I looked toward my mom and her friends and I wished I could be them. To skip through my teens and twenties and start fresh in my thirties. I dreamed of being
thirty. I dreamed of being an adult.
14
A few years later, after trying to hurt myself, and thus hurting my parents, I wrote a letter:
Dearest S,
I will love myself above all else. I will take care of myself and do whatever is best for me. I will never hurt myself in any way.
I won’t be weak or lazy. I will succeed. I will study hard and if I don’t understand something I will seek help. I won’t be afraid to ask for help. I will be able to look at myself in the mirror and smile.
I deserve to be happy. I am a good person. I know right from wrong and come from wonderful parents who love me above all else. I am fortunate, but I also deserve to be fortunate. I am a good person.
And even though I am overweight, I won’t be for long. I will exercise and control my diet because I love my body and myself. I will not judge others just to judge myself. I shall accept all consequences and will learn from all mistakes. I won’t give up on myself.
I am only 18 years old. I have my whole life to be happy and watch myself succeed. The only person I can disappoint is myself and I won’t do that any longer.
Any free time I have will be out doing something that makes me happy, that I enjoy, or that is good for me. I am the only one who can make me happy or feel beautiful, and I intend to follow this through. I won’t give up on myself. I mean too much just to give up.
I am beautiful…I am smart…I am wonderful. And I will be happy. Mark my words. I will succeed. I won’t give up. I will love myself! Thanks for giving me a second chance. I will not fail.
Sophie's Smile: A Novel Page 3
