Unlovable

by Sherry Gammon

However, he seldom did…

  2

  MAGGIE

  “Absolutely pathetic!” Sadly, pulling the comb through my hair again did nothing to improve it. The dull brown strands fell lifelessly down the center of my back. Of course, technically, hair was already dead, yet somehow mine seemed deader than most. I carefully set the skinny comb on the edge of our avocado green sink. The bathroom was much too small for a counter-top so the retro sink had to pull double duty.

  “I wonder if Hillary ever has a bad hair day.” I asked my reflection in the chipped mirror above the sink. “Probably not.” Hillary was the cheer captain at my school, Port Fare High, and every boy’s fantasy girl. Whatever!

  I wasn’t an ugly girl. I had nice eyes, sort of. There were huge shadows around them anymore thanks to too many late-night study sessions, but their blue color was somewhat pretty. I had a good nose. It was straight and short, though it did turn up a little too much at the end, but my skin was clear, this week anyway.

  I jabbed my fingers through my hair again in hopes of infusing some life into it.

  Nope.

  I dropped my hands back down onto the sink’s edge, forgetting about the precariously placed comb and sent it plunging into our pink toilet. Yet another great day in my dull boring life! I fished the comb out, poured bleach on it and left it in the sink to soak. I wrapped a rubber band around my dead hair and went to my room.

  The back seam of my one and only winter coat had ripped out right before Christmas, and I now had to dress in layers to keep warm. I pulled on a tank top and two tee shirts before grabbing my beige sweater off the bed and heading into the kitchen to pack some lunch.

  Scooping up the mail off the wobbly kitchen table, I thumbed through it while standing next to our trash bin. “Hmm, junk mail.” One was addressed to me: Maggie Brown, You may already be a $1,000,000 winner!

  “Goodie, my troubles are over.” I tossed the envelope into the dilapidated orange bin and gathered the peanut butter and the last of the bread from the cupboard before continuing.

  The next letter was addressed to my mother. Barbara Brown, you are invited to join the Wine of the Month club. Call 1-800—“Oh, yeah, exactly what my mother needs.” I ripped the invitation into several small pieces and filed it alongside the $1,000,000 advertisement. The only other piece of mail was the overdue electric bill. “Shoot!” I set it beside the tattered dish drainer to remind myself to write out a check after school.

  With only one slice of bread left, I made up half a sandwich for my mother. If anyone needed food, she did. I packed up my book bag and walked over to where her skeletal frame laid sprawled across the couch sleeping off last night’s dinner: a bottle of vodka. I swept back a matted strand of gray hair from her prematurely-lined face—no one would have guessed her to be only 34 years-old—and kissed her cheek, something I’d have never done if she were coherent.

  “I lo … bye, Mom.” I wanted to tell her I loved her, but she’d never made our home a safe place for expressing emotions, and even though she was asleep, I still couldn’t do it. I’d learned from an early age to keep my feelings buried deep inside, training myself never to cry in front of her. Having to endure her ridiculing if I were to show her my true emotions would have killed me.

  I thought back to when I was just seven years old. I’d fallen out of an apple tree and hurt my arm. Lying on a rotting heap of wormy apples, I screamed out in pain and within seconds, my mother was at my side.

  “Shut up! You’re embarrassing me.” She jerked me up by my injured arm and dragged me into the house. “Stop crying and go to bed!”

  I remembered rubbing the tears dry from my cheeks, and forcing myself to stop crying. “My arm hurts, bad!”

  “Good! Maybe that will teach you to be more careful, cry-baby.”

  Two days later the school nurse noticed my swollen, misshapen arm during recess and tried calling my mom for over two hours but she never answered so the neighbor listed on my emergency contact card drove me to the hospital instead. It turned out my arm was broken in two places. And the reason my mother never picked up the phone? She was passed out from her liquid lunch.

  Social services showed up at our home the next day. My mother was sober by then and was able to lie her way out of trouble, but she went ballistic on me after they’d left.

  “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll stick you in a foster home so fast your head will spin, then you’ll no long be a burden to me!” From then on, all my tears were saved for my pillow.

  I turned and gave the room a quick once-over to make sure nothing was lying around that she might stumble over and hurt herself on. Quietly closing the door of our dilapidated blue trailer, I tightened my antiquated sweater as the bitter cold wind sliced through it. “Oooh!” Spring couldn’t come soon enough for me, despite the beauty of Upstate New York, the winters were brutal.

  The school was close, only 12 minutes away if I jogged, something I usually did during the winter months. It was the first day of school since Christmas break, and I was looking forward to getting back into a routine.

  When I reached the park near my home, a sporty red Lexus IS F pulled up alongside me. My heart skipped a beat. I knew the car and could easily pick it out in a crowd, along with its hot owner. Seth Prescott: beautiful car, beautiful hair, beautiful… seriously, what wasn’t beautiful about him? He even had a way of making the scruffy brown cowboy boots he always wore look hot. He’d transferred to Port Fare High from some fancy private school last summer, and I’d developed a serious crush on him, along with every other girl in school. I knew he was out of my league, but it didn’t stop me from indulging in a daydream or two. I’d heard he lived alone since his parents died a while back. Rather impressive for a guy who was only eighteen.

  “Want a ride?” He flashed a to-die-for smile as a gust of wind caught his shoulder-length brown hair, tossing the silky locks onto his face. His green eyes sparkled as he brushed the hair behind his ears and laughed.

  Yep, he was freakin’ hot.

  I thought of the look on Hillary’s face if she were to see me in Seth’s car. Priceless. I quickly doused the daydream. “No, thanks.” The idea of trying to make conversation with Mr. Tall and Yummy, even if only for five minutes, was more than I could handle this early in the morning. I’d rather walk. He let out a rush of air as if he had been holding his breath and drove away.

  Crossing the school parking lot a short time later, my ex-boyfriend Zack Finkle cruised by in his rusted-out Chevy something or other. I quickly diverted my gaze to the ground. He honked his horn, or rather played his horn in his search for a parking spot, all the while primping his spiky blond hair. Some goofy tune bellowed out of the car, and he gave his engine a punch of gas as he shifted gears. For some unknown reason I waved, though I had to wrestle back a sneer. He smiled and winked one of his dull gray eyes. Sick! We broke up after dating for two months. He insisted we sleep together, I insisted we didn’t.

  I won.

  Weaving my way through the last row of cars, I was nearly plowed down by a bright yellow Mini Cooper driven by none other than Hillary Jeffers: cheerleader, beautiful, perfect in every way. Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect clothes, and perfect pom-poms. She barely glanced in my direction. No surprise, she rarely acknowledged my existence. It worked for me.

  Naturally, Zack had a thing for her, but Hillary only had eyes for Seth—and who could blame her—even still, I had no doubt Zack would have her one day, he was a devious little worm. His family had considerable power in the community, which meant they hung out in all the right circles. Regardless of her lust for Seth, Hillary lusted after power and money even more. Zack was just her speed.

  I entered the main building via the gym door and went straight to my locker, running into Karen Mayes on the way. She was yet another tall gorgeous cheerleader, but Karen was Hillary’s opposite–she was nice. She looked toasty warm in her long, red sweater and black leggings.

  “Hi, Maggie, did you hav
e a good Christmas?” Her smile sparkled against her clear ebony skin, as did the shiny white headband in her hair.

  “Yes, how about you?”

  “Great. My family and I went skiing in Utah for a week. It was awesome. Have you ever been there?”

  “No,” nor had I ever been skiing. After fighting with my locker combination a few times, I opened the door and shoved my extra books inside.

  Karen carefully slipped her pom-poms in behind my books and gently shut the door. Her locker was jammed fully of cheer paraphernalia, leaving little room for the blue and gold streamers. I let her keep them in mine.

  “I appreciate you letting me use your locker. I guess it’s silly to be this fussy over pom-poms, it’s just that some of the other girls get rather nasty if they don’t look perfect.” Undoubtedly, she meant Hillary. “Did you get anything fun for Christmas?”

  “Oh, you know the same old boring thing.” Nothing.

  “Yes, but those boring Christmases make the big Christmases even better, don’t you think?” She then lowered her voice. “Guess what? I got an email from Mrs. Connor over break. I’m getting a B!”

  I’d been helping her study for her English Lit class during the lunch hour. She was getting a D, and would have been suspended from the cheer team if she couldn’t bring it up to a C.

  “That’s great!”

  “Thanks for the help. I lost track of how many lunches you skipped to help me.”

  Not many really, it’s not as if I brought lunch very often.

  “Hey, I have an extra donut. Do you want it?” She wiggled a tan sack at me. “It won’t make up for all the lunches you missed, but it’s a start.”

  “Are you sure?” I tried to sound casual despite the fact I was starving.

  “Positive.” She handed me a glazed doughnut from a small sack. “See ya later.”

  “Thanks.” I eagerly stuffed the doughnut into my mouth. It tasted wonderful. Of course hungry as I was, cardboard would have tasted wonderful. After licking the last of the icing off my fingers, I made my way over to my first class of the day, Modern Mythology.

  Port Fare High divided the classes up into 90-minute blocks. Each class was taught every other day, a plus for me since I hated math.

  On the other hand, it could be extremely painful if you had a dull teacher. Case in point, the Modern Mythology teacher, Dr. Bore. Or as he was known amongst the student body: Bore the Snore. Not only was he a complete bore, but he was also a bit bizarre.

  The self-proclaimed nonconformist was a thin, scrawny man, with a feeble gray beard. It matched the straggly gray hair he kept tied back in a ponytail via a thin leather strap. He wore collarless shirts, and because the school policy stated male teachers had to wear a tie, he kept one draped about his neck, untied. He wore sandals every day. Nothing, neither rain, nor sleet, not even snow could keep him from wearing his silly Birkenstocks. If that wasn’t bad enough, a weird odor hung on him all the time. I did my best to avoid standing too close to him.

  His five or six minions sat in the front desks soaking up every word he had to say, while the rest of the class battled sleep. My favorite spot was the far right corner of the room where I could sit unnoticed. Before class started, I dropped into my usual desk and began doodling in my notebook, immediately becoming lost in my thoughts. So lost, I didn’t notice who sat down next to me.

  “Hello, again.” I immediately recognized the deep warm voice and turned to look into Seth’s delicious eyes. He had on a long-sleeved, yellow striped polo and a pair of well-worn Levis. I glanced about to see who he was talking to, only to discover there wasn’t anyone else around.

  “Hi?” Not meaning for it to sound like a question, I blushed.

  “Maggie Brown, right?” I nodded cautiously at him. “Where do you live?”

  Why did he want to know that? “Why?” I sounded rude, which wasn’t my intent. Maybe I should stick to nodding. My hand sprung to a strand of limp hair that had escaped from my rubber band, and I was about to begin twirling the hairs back and forth between my first two fingers, an anxious habit of mine, but thankfully, I caught myself and quickly dropped my hand back down.

  “I noticed you were walking to school today and it’s pretty cold out. Would you like a ride in the mornings? My house is over on Ivy Circle, do you live near there?”

  Where else would this beautiful being live except for on the rich side of town. “Sorry, I live off Main Street, by Applegate Park. Thanks anyway.”

  He reached over and tucked the limp strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers felt warm as they brushed against the jaw of my still cold face and it forced another shiver down my back.

  “It’s not that far out of my way. If you’d like, I can pick you up,” he said with a smile.

  My first instinct was to wonder why he was being so kind. What did he want? True, I had seen him around school, but we’d never hung out, let alone had a conversation.

  “I’m trying to get in shape for track team tryouts in the spring.” Okay, that was a shameless lie. “Thanks anyway.” He looked as if he was about to insist, when Hillary appeared out of nowhere, wrapping her arms about his neck. She was wearing a pink mini skirt and white blouse. How she was staying warm was a mystery to me.

  “Good morning, beautiful.” Hillary smiled as he turned and stood. I briefly wondered if I looked as mesmerized as she did when looking at him. “Will you help me with the Mythology homework? You never called back last night, naughty boy. Trying to avoid me?” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout and slid her arm around his waist.

  “Sorry, Hillary. I was busy and forgot.”

  “I’ll forgive you if you come over and help me before class starts.” She flashed him another impish pout and turned to leave. He followed like a whipped puppy, but not before he glanced back at me and mouthed, “We’ll talk later.”

  Okay, weird. I had no idea he even knew my name. Apparently, Hillary had her hooks into him deep. She whistles. He jumps. I wondered if a guy would ever care for me like that. “Maybe if I was built like Hillary,” I mumbled under my breath.

  I was actually enjoying the single life since breaking up with Zack. I had no one trying to force me into compromising on things I wanted, or didn’t want.

  While we were dating, Zack was constantly trying to pressure me into trying alcohol. No thanks. Living with an alcoholic all my life gave me ample cause to avoid the stuff. He also tried getting me to smoke pot, which in my book was the same as alcohol except more destructive.

  However, his all-time favorite thing was to try pressuring me into sex, with him. Ha! As if! A ripple of disgust washed over me as I remembered his wet, sloppy kisses. Since breaking up, I’d tried to figure out why I ever dated him in the first place. Loneliness, I suppose. But now that I was free, loneliness wasn’t so bad. I was independent and enjoying it immensely. I vowed never again to have a boyfriend hanging around me like a noose. I was a liberated woman who didn’t need a boy to be happy.

  Dr. Bore droned on and on, it felt as if class would never end. To break up the agony, I pulled out my new class schedule and verified the changes. Everything was pretty much the same as last semester, except I added a fourth period Culinary class and had to switch my Community at Large class to second period.

  Community at Large, or CaL, was my favorite class. Students from the high school drove over to Hunter Hills, the local elementary school, and assisted the teacher in the classroom for an hour with various activities. I worked with the emotionally needy children. Over half the class was in foster care, having been through unspeakable horrors already in their young lives. CaL was the highlight of my day. Truthfully, it was more like the highlight of my life. I felt more alive there than I did anywhere else. I willingly gave those kids the real me I didn’t trust to anyone else. It felt liberating, and truthfully, they did more for me than I could possibly have done for them.

  The bell rang, rousing me out of my daydream. Since carpooling to the elementary school was mandatory
, I hurried toward the CaL classroom to find out who I was driving with.

  “Hey, Maggie, how was your Christmas break?”

  Melody Winkmyer. We’d known each other since the third grade though we rarely hung out. She was short, maybe 5’2,” and had tons of short, curly brown hair. Her face was always a bright red, as if she’d just run a marathon. She was also a wizard on the lacrosse team. “Have you heard the latest?” Gossip, Melody should have a PhD in it by now. To be sure, the girl knew something about everyone. “Mark and Debbie broke up!”

  That was news. They had been a couple since tenth grade, and everyone assumed they’d get married after high school. “Debbie and her family went on a cruise over Christmas break, and she met some guy from Mexico. They’re engaged!”

  “Not!”

  “Debbie told me herself. Her parents are livid.” Melody’s cheeks were positively glowing with excitement over the news. It made me uncomfortable.

  “How’s Mark doing?” I liked Mark, he was a decent guy. This had to be difficult for him.

  “Well, he’s not in school today!” She smiled broadly. I was about to change the subject when Hillary rushed past me. Seth was walking directly ahead of us, no doubt she was trying to catch up to him.

  Melody frowned. “Are those two still an item?” Hillary reached Seth and looped her arm through his. She proceeded to flip her long strawberry-blond hair, drawing attention from every male within 100 yards. I had to pull my head back to avoid being smacked in the face with it.

  Her frown deepened and she whispered loudly, “Never mind. Does he ever date regular people like me?”

  “There are plenty of other guys out there. Zack and I broke up.”

  “No thanks, he’s too handsie.” So true. He had little respect for anyone’s personal space especially if that someone were female.

  “I heard Seth keeps a comb in his back pocket in case his precious hair dares to mess up,” she again whispered loudly. I hoped he was too busy drooling over Hillary to overhear her, though he’d have to be deaf not to.