Here’s something no one knows about
me: When I was younger, my ears stuck out so bad I looked like a loving cup.
You might think people at school
were kind and understanding about this minor defect. I mean, it wasn’t my
fault. And they’d heard years of lecturing about no bullying, zero tolerance,
“It isn’t big to make others feel small.” I’ve heard those lectures myself.
But, if you thought that, you’d be severely wrong. Little kids can be complete
jerks. I got called Dumbo, Minnie Mouse, Dogface, and the ever-imaginative Big
Ears.
When someone beat me up, my parents
enrolled me in karate classes. It was supposed to be self-defense, but I’ll
admit I was pretty into it—so into it that when this one girl, Ramsey Taylor,
asked me if I could hear the sun come up, I kicked her in the mouth.
Of course, I got in trouble. Because, you know, when people are asking you if
your mother had an affair with Bugs Bunny, you’re just supposed to ignore it.
Ignoring it is the go-to solution for grown-ups. They love to blame the victim.
Anyway, I got thrown out of school.
I was homeschooled for the rest of the year, and that’s when I got plastic
surgery.
I sense your disapproval. Some
people will say that children getting cosmetic surgery symbolizes everything
that’s wrong with our society. Well, those people should have to walk around
with ears so big they knock stuff over.
I started a new school that fall, a
school where no one knew me or my
ears. Oh, and I changed my name from Sylvia (after my grandmother) to Sloane
(after cool, rich British people).
I devoted myself to fitting in. From
that day on, I had no clothes, no possessions, no opinions that weren’t shared by ten other people. I talked my mom
into letting me get highlights, and when it came time for braces, I made sure
my dad knew he had to spring for Invisalign. I was never going to give anyone
reason to make fun of me again. People might hate me, but if they do, it’s
because they fear me. Which is a lot better than being some pathetic loser.
But, sometimes, I wonder if anyone
actually likes me.
I especially wondered that with
Kyle.
Kyle was my boyfriend, back in ninth
grade. He was the most popular guy in our class. It was always fun to be with
Kyle, not only because he got invited to all the cool parties, but also because
he had this wicked sense of humor. He could imitate people so well you thought
they were in the room, and he always made funny comments.
But, sometimes, I worried he was
making funny comments about me. When
you’ve been one of the weird, unpopular people, you feel like you’re always one
of them. I laughed at Kyle’s jokes, but part of me always knew I could have
been the butt of them.
I knew Kyle wouldn’t have given me a
second look if he’d seen me with my old stick-out ears, my crooked teeth. Yet,
what was I supposed to do—not go out
with the cool, handsome, popular guy because he wouldn’t have liked my
rabbit-esque former self? I’d worked hard to look the way I looked. I deserved
to reap the benefits.
Still, I always looked for proof
that he loved me. Like, at the ninth grade dance. I asked him for one thing: an
orchid corsage. It was meaningful because I remembered when I was little, my
older sister, Elizabeth, went to a dance, and her date brought her an orchid. I
always wanted one. To me, an orchid corsage equaled love.
Kyle showed up with a rose. Not only
that, but when I called him on it, he said the maid screwed up. The. Freaking.
Maid. Like, he didn’t even care enough to buy it himself.
Okay, so maybe I was a little hard
on him. Maybe I was a complete bitch. But really. And then, he gives the
corsage to some defective, working the ticket table, obviously to get revenge
on me. And then, he wanted to leave early. What a jerk. I mean,
getting crowned dance royalty might have been NBD to Kyle, but it was pretty
much the pinnacle of my entire existence. It meant not only that I was pretty,
but that I was loved.
I was assertive with him. I told him
no way was he going to ruin the biggest night of my life. But later, I was a
complete puddle. I should have broken up with him right after the dance.
Instead, we went back to my apartment because I’m just that desperate for approval.
But the next day, he went all weird
on me. I mean, I knew he had a cruel streak. I saw what he did to Kendra. I
just thought he at least sort of cared about me.
He didn’t. He actually pretended he
had some kind of curse placed on him, to make him ugly. I guess he assumed I’d
break up with him if he wasn’t hot, but I knew he was trying to get rid of me.
When he pulled that crap, I kicked
him to the curb. But then, he disappeared for two years, and I wondered if
maybe it hadn’t been a trick after all. Maybe it had all been true, and I’d
become as mean as those kids in my grade school class. What he’d said about
witches and spells—was that possible?
Now, Kyle’s back and completely
normal looking, so it must have been a trick.
The weird thing is, though, he’s
dating this really nothing-looking girl named Lindy. What’s up with that?
