Not Pretty Enough (3 page)

CHAPTER 6

The next morning I make it a point not to get up before my
mum leaves for work. I wait until the coast is clear then drag myself out for
the ten o’clock bus. People I know would be more likely to go shopping in the
afternoon and I would die if I ran into anyone I know. I think I’ve covered the
hair disaster quite well, but I’m certainly not at my best. I’m wearing a black
hat that I got from New Look a few months ago but haven’t had a reason to wear
yet. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hair. The red parts are all dry and
knotted up. I can’t run a brush through them. I tried piling all my hair on top
of my head, but it wouldn’t fit under the hat, then I tried just putting the
red parts under there, but they fell down and got all tangled up with the rest
of my hair. So I’ve had to compromise. I’ve left all my hair down and put the
hat on so it covers the mess that is the top of my head where all the red
colouring met at the roots and congealed.

I think I’m doing fine. I’ve got
through the bus journey into town and no one seems to have noticed. I think
I’ve got the day covered, when the unthinkable happens. My hat blows off.
Seriously. It just blows away, and I can’t catch it. As the bus pulled away, it
let out a huge puff of exhaust air right in my face, and that coincided with a
big gust of wind, and my hat just blew off. I tried to catch it, I really did.
But I’m unfit and look like a beached whale when I run, so I tried to chase it
but it flew up into a tree and now it’s disappeared completely. I’m walking
around town looking like one of those Halloween costumes with the fake axe in
the head, but without the axe. So my plan of action is simple. I have to
swallow all embarrassment and ignore the funny looks. I just have to get to
Superdrug, buy a brown hair dye, and get the bus home. It’s going to take me
half an hour at the most. Okay, I look like I might need medical attention, but
the only thing wrong with me is major embarrassment. Why, oh why didn’t I plan
for freak of nature accidents and bring a spare hat with me?

I get to Superdrug with only a
few mildly sympathetic looks from strangers. They feel sorry for me. I keep my
head down and don’t make eye contact with anyone.

I find a temporary hair dye that
doesn’t cost too much and buy two boxes to be on the safe side. It does say on
the box that if your hair is longer than shoulder length or very thick you
might need two, and mine is both.

Everything’s okay until I’m in
the checkout queue. I’ve done it. I haven’t met anyone I know. Now I can rush
back to the bus stop, get home and pretend this whole thing never happened. And
then the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to me on a day like this
happens. Any other day, it would have been the best thing in the world, but
when you’re walking around like something out of a horror film, it’s a
disaster.

“What the hell happened to you?”

I know his accent. I know his
voice, I’d recognise it anywhere.

Lloyd Layton.

I want to ignore him. If I
squeeze my eyes shut tight enough and pretend I didn’t just hear that, maybe
he’ll go away. It doesn’t work. It probably made him think I’m even more of a
freak than he already does.

“Hi,” I say, turning around to
face him. Damn, he looks good. All tall and sexy with his brown, dishevelled
hair hanging over his forehead. He’s dressed in light coloured jeans and a
black t-shirt with a ridiculously expensive designer’s name emblazoned across
the front.

He looks hotter than ever and I
look like a sweaty, red lump.

“You know the teachers will go
mad if you go to school looking like that?”

I nod, not trusting my mouth to
work properly with all the embarrassment.

“It’ll be gone by then. By
tonight even. It’s just a mistake,” I finally manage.

“No kidding. You could sue the
hairdresser who did that to you.”

“I’m sure I could,” I reply. He
doesn’t need to know I did this to myself.

I can’t believe I’m talking to
Lloyd Layton in Superdrug in the middle of the Easter holidays, and I can’t
believe I look like an extra from a Stephen King novel while I’m doing it. If
only I looked hot. Even looking normal would do at this stage. This is the
first time Lloyd has so much as looked at me since the sneezing incident, why
couldn’t it be perfect? Maybe this means he’s forgiven me or doesn’t think I’m
disgusting and we can finally move past it and become friends.

“Four ninety eight, please,” the
cashier says and oh hell, I hadn’t realised we’d moved that far up the line.

I turn away from Lloyd and begin
fumbling in my purse for some money, but I’m so nervous my hands are shaking
and I drop the purse, spilling the entire contents across the aisle of
Superdrug.

“Sorry,” I say to the cashier,
bending down to pick everything up, heat flaring in my face. I can hear Lloyd
laughing to himself but I don’t look up to see him.

I’m so humiliated. Why do I turn
into a complete imbecile in Lloyd’s presence?

When I’ve finally gathered the
contents of my purse up, and I should probably thank my lucky stars that there
wasn’t a tampon or something equally embarrassing in there, I practically throw
the money at the woman tapping her foot impatiently behind the till in my rush
to get out of here. As much as I would love nothing more than to have a proper
conversation with Lloyd, I think it’s asking for a bit much on a day like
today. Right now, I need to get out of here before I do something even worse
like, oh I don’t know, vomit on his feet or something. I am feeling a little
queasy after all.

“See you in school,” I mumble,
as I grab my bag and half run out of there with my head so far down that I
don’t see the doorframe until I walk right into it.

Ouch.

Lloyd bursts out laughing again,
he doesn’t even try to hide it this time, and I disentangle myself from the
doorway and run out even faster, ignoring the throbbing in my head.

Damn it, could that have been
any worse? Did I absolutely have to bump into Lloyd Layton on the day I look my
absolute worst? Not that I ever look particularly great anyway, but I don’t
usually look quite this horrific.

The only good thing about this
whole day is that the brown hair dye worked and I no longer have half my head a
weird pinkish-reddish colour.

CHAPTER 7

I’ve learnt something about so-called wash-in-wash-out hair
dye. It should be renamed wash-in-will-
never
-wash-out.
It’s the first day back at school after Easter and I still have brown hair.
It’s showing no signs of fading either. This stuff will grow out before it
washes out. I don’t mind too much, to be honest. It was a bit of a shock at
first but I’ve got used to having brown hair for the time being.

By lunchtime, I’ve even got a
few compliments on it. Okay, they were mostly from Debs and one from Ewan, but
it’s the thought that counts. Maybe Lloyd will notice too. Maybe he prefers brunettes.

Debs and I are walking across
the yard at lunchtime when the heavens open. It had been a nice day until now
but suddenly it’s pouring. We just happen to be near Lloyd’s Archway, and Ewan
just happens to be standing there beckoning us inside for shelter.

The archway itself is the only
remaining part of a long-since-demolished old building that was once a church.
From the very first day in school, Lloyd and his friends adopted this archway
and they now spend every lunchtime there, rain or shine. Girls aren’t usually
allowed in the archway unless they’re going out with one of the gang. No one
complains when Debs and I squeeze inside though. Neither of us are going out
with Ewan, no matter how much Debs would like to, but I suppose friends count
too. Ewan isn’t even one of Lloyd’s gang, not really, but he spends his
lunchtimes in the archway with them.

We never venture near the
archway, because I’m usually too nervous to spend any extended period of time
in Lloyd’s company, and they’re all boys who talk about nothing but boring
stuff like sports and cars.

But today is a good day to
infiltrate the archway. It’s raining, so we have a valid reason for being
there, and there are only about ten minutes of lunchtime left, and seriously,
how big a fool can I make of myself in ten minutes? Even I would struggle with
that one.

“Hi,” Debs says as we sidle in
and stand next to Ewan.

He grins like seeing her is the
best thing to happen all day. Lloyd doesn’t even acknowledge our presence. He’s
having a conversation with Darren about car racing, which doesn’t sound very
interesting to me. At least Ewan talks to us. I’m not really paying attention
to him, because Lloyd is like three feet away from me, but he’s talking to Debs
so I nod occasionally and try to look like I’m involved in the conversation
too.

Lloyd doesn’t even look up in
the next ten minutes. He’s debating intensely with Darren about race car
drivers. He hasn’t even seen my new hair yet.

Eventually the buzzer rings, and
one of the lads steps aside to let us girls run out first, which is very
considerate of him. I shout a thank you back as I put my head down and step
out. I don’t have a hood on this stupid jacket, and I didn’t bring an umbrella
today.

I’m rushing in the direction of
our form room with my head down so low to try and stop my hair frizzing out
that I can’t see where I’m going, and I only get a few steps before I run smack
bang into someone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I
say. I hear laughter burst out from the archway behind us. What could they
possibly be laughing at now?

“I’m really sorry,” I say again
to the person I ran into. My head is throbbing so I must’ve hurt him as well.
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking up.

And then I realise why they’re
laughing at me. It’s not so much of a some
one
that I ran in to. More of a some
thing
.

I am currently apologising to a
lamppost.

Oh God
.
Why me?

I have ten minutes to not make a
fool of myself, and what do I do? I run into a lamppost
and
apologise to it. I have to be the world’s biggest
klutz.

I slink away, looking where I’m
going now – stuff the hair, let it frizz. I’m sure frizzy hair is less
embarrassing than having a chat with a lamppost.

“You don’t have to try so hard,
you know,” Debs says when we get to class.

“But I do,” I moan. “Especially
now he’s just seen me do that.”

“God, I wish you’d just tell him
you like him and put yourself out of this misery.”

“I can’t. He’ll just say
thanks but no thanks
, and I don’t want to hear that. I
know
that Lloyd doesn’t like me, but I want to
make it so he does like me before I say anything to him.”

“Chessie…”

“I just want him to know I
exist.”

“Oh, I think he knows you exist
by now,” Debs says.

“I want him to acknowledge me
then. Lloyd has barely even looked at me since day one, so how is he ever going
to like me or know that I like him if I can’t even get him to look at me?”

“Chess…”

“Forget it. I think he and I
would get on really well, if only we had a chance. I don’t want to be rejected
by him.”

“You don’t know he’s going to
reject you.”

“He doesn’t even know my name.
Of course he’s going to reject me. I’m not pretty, or clever, or rich, or
anything else that might possibly attract him to a girl. I’m just plain old
Chessie Clemenfield, and he’s never going to pay any attention to me unless I
make
him.”

“As far as I know, most men
appreciate the forward approach. You can drop hints for years and they still
won’t get it.”

“What, like you do with Ewan? If
you’re so into the forward approach, why don’t you tell Ewan how you feel about
him?”

“It’s not the same,” she says.

“You like him the way I like
Lloyd. The only difference is that Ewan is your friend and his face lights up
every time he sees you.”

“Exactly. Ewan is our friend.
He’d never want to be anything more.”

“You don’t know that unless you try.”

“This is not about me and Ewan,
okay? It’s about you and Lloyd. Just go up to him, tell him you like him, and
see what happens. You don’t know unless you try either. Staring at him a lot
and changing your hair won’t let him know how you feel.”

“Lloyd will get it eventually.
We have loads of stuff in common. He just needs the chance to see it.”

“Chess, the only thing you have
in common with Lloyd Layton is the fact that you’ve got big boobs and he’s
about nine feet tall.”

“That’s not the point. I understand
him. I know what it’s like not to fit in.”

“Lloyd fits in. Have you seen
how many boys he hangs around with at lunchtime? It’s not like he’s short of
friends.”

“But it must be hard for him,
you know, being different.”

“He’s not different. He’s just…”

“Taller than most of the
teachers,” I finish. “People treat him like a freak. They stare at his height
the way they stare at my chest.”

“You can’t form a relationship
on him being tall and you having a big chest.”

“We understand each other. What
better basis for a relationship is there?”

I’m not really that confident
but I don’t tell Debs that. I know that I don’t have anything in common with
Lloyd Layton. He’s rich and probably lives in a mansion. I get a tenner a week
pocket money in return for doing chores and live in a house that always needs a
plumber, or a builder, or a repairman of some sort called in. He gets a taxi to
school, I ride a bus that rattles and breaks down at least once a month. He has
a huge gang of friends who hang out in the archway with him every lunchtime. I
have Debs and we usually hang out in the library or on the steps outside our
form room. He’s into sports and cars and probably action movies where people
get blown up a lot, I’m into make-up, shopping and romantic comedies where the
girl
always
gets the guy.

Debs is right. The only thing we
have in common is first and last name alliteration, but I can’t give up yet.
Lloyd could like me, he just doesn’t know me yet.