Until There Was You

The picture

My alarm went off right about the time my mom decided to s swing, the door open and began belting out "Tomorrow" from the movie Annie. God I love her but she cannot carry a tune to save her life.
"The sun will come out tomorrow," she bellowed.
"Mom! Seriously stop. It's awful," I said burying my face into my pillow.
"The Lord says to make a joyful noise. He didn't say it had to be in tune."
"Yeah, well I bet he would reconsider that statement if he heard you right now."
My mom just shrugged her shoulders and sauntered off down the hall to wake up my brother.
I laid in bed staring at my ceiling. We were getting our school pictures back today. That meant 'trade week.' I don't really know when or how it got started but it was a big deal. Everyone walks the halls and passes out their pics to whomever they feel should have one. Of course you want all of the cute guys and popular girls to ask if you want to trade with them. Or if you are ballsy enough to ask first, you may be one of the lucky ones and they will grace you with one of their portrait masterpieces. It was just another way to solidify your social status and quite frankly stupid, but here I was laying in bed thinking about the prospects of Cam trading with me.
Don't be an idiot Mara. That'll never happen.
At the end of the week you were quote on quote    ' a big deal' based on how many pictures you had in your locker and of who. The more pics the better. And if the majority of those pics were of the popular people you were "in." At the end of the week locker doors hang open in between classes for what seemed like miles just so everyone walking by new exactly who stood where; if it weren't already apparent enough. I really didn't care how many I had, if I got anyone to trade with me at all. But, if I had one of Cam's and his was the only one I ever got my life would be complete.
I rolled out of bed and headed towards my closet, glancing at myself as I walked by my dresser mirror, "What the? Oh my God!" I exclaimed stopping dead in my tracks. If my pictures were any indication of my current hot mess a troll wouldn't even trade with me. I had fallen asleep with my hair soaking wet last night. Half of it was stick-straight facing one direction and the other half stuck out in random waves and frayed ends. To top it off the remote must have been smashed against my face all night because there was an imprint of the left arrow button on my right cheek. "Seriously! Great. These marks won't come off till like 3rd period." I rubbed my cheek vigorously trying to get it off but it only made it worse. "Ugh!" I grabbed my brush and tried to tame the mess on top of my head but to no avail. Damnit! I grabbed a pair of jeans and my favorite Guess t-shirt and ran to the bathroom. I threw my hair in to a low ponytail and attempted to brush some water through my ends. Not the best option but at least it didn't look like I stuck my finger in a light socket. I quickly wiped my face off
and made my way to the kitchen. Sam was already at the table eating his bowl of Tricks cereal, looking less than enthralled to be up than I was.
"What happened to you?" he asked glancing up from his bowl before shoving another spoonful in his mouth.
"Shut up Sam" I snapped.
"Don't even start you two," my mom interjected setting a bowl of Cookie Crisp in front of me. " I don't want to hear it first thing this morning."
Sam returned to shoveling his cereal into his open trap with a smug look across his face. If he wasn't three years older and quite a bit stronger than me, I'd smacked that look right off. Fortunately for Sam, he was one of the popular kids and never had to worry or put up with the shit that I did. For some reason, God must not have felt me worthy enough to share the same popular genes as him. We finished our cereal in silence, other than Sam's continued slurping and the sound of my pen circling the word search on the back of the cereal box. I dropped my cereal bowl in the sink  and headed back to the bathroom to take one more look at my knowingly unfortunate-looking appearance. There was nothing more I could do because there was nothing there to work with. I grabbed my tooth brush and inspected my teeth as I brushed.
Stupid braces.

Brie and Rachel were waiting at my locker when I arrived.
"Hey girl!" Brie shouted, "Pictures come in today. God I hope my hair doesn't look heinous. I don't get why they take them at the end of the day after sweating in PE and whatever. So gross."
"Yeah. And it's not like they give you any time to fix yourself. Last year there was a freaking awful glare from glasses. I seriously looked like I had an eye-patch. You would think the photographer would've seen that" Rachel grumbled.
"Well," I said shoving some of my books into the skinniest locker in the world," I look like crap in every picture so I can't imagine this years pictures will be any different."
They both shot me a disapproving look.
"Stop," Brie admonished, "That's not true and you know it. Don't let those ass-holes make you think that about yourself. You're beautiful inside and out" she grinned.
Leave it to Brie to try and give me a confidence boost. I am so glad we are next to each other in choir this year so I could get to know her better. Her and Rachel are like my only two friends.
"Brie's right, Mara. Those guys are far from perfect themselves and, well, the girls are just bitches, so..." We chuckled as we made our way to 1st period.
We all sat down at our desks. Brie was right in front of me and Rachel was a few rows over carrying on our conversation until the bell rang, and Mrs. Driscoll started class.
"Good morning class. Happy..." insert whatever day it is because I really wasn't listening.  Mrs. Driscoll was pretty cool. She taught English Lit which was one of my favorite classes. She was a stoutly woman with curly, salt and pepper hair, glasses and who always wore a skirt and cardigan. She was the quintessential, English teacher, and I loved her for it.
"First things first, pictures have arrived. Please, try to contain your excitement," she said sarcastically. "I will pass them out while you are working independently on your personal narratives which, by the way, are due by the end of this week."
The whole class groaned. Even me. I typically love writing. It was therapeutic and another way for me to escape my real life. The problem with this particular assignment was that it had to be all about you. A form of writing intended to tell one's story about their personal experiences and creatively express their thoughts, feelings, and ideas. And I had nothing to say about my personal experiences that wouldn't likely worry the adult psyche. I preferred to write more in tune with the romance, thriller, or fiction genres where I could throw my heart into a characters blossoming love story, try to read fast enough that the next anticipated  murder victim escapes unscathed, or get lost in a world of make believe where utopia's are brought to life. The last thing I needed right now was to freak out my teacher. She would likely call my mom and the next thing I know I'd be in therapy twice a week. Then again, lying about how I feel has become somewhat second nature for me, so... lies it is.

Mrs.  Driscoll walked around and handed out the picture packets as we worked. Looking around at everyone's facial expressions as they opened them, some were more than happy about it and showing any and everyone possible while others rolled their eyes and shoved them right back in the package.
"Let me see," Brie grinned as she swung around in her chair. "Mine are just as I expected. Hair is a hot freaking mess." she rolled her eyes. I pulled mine out of the package. You would think I was getting ready to read the winner of the Academy Awards as slowly and awkwardly as I pulled them out.
They're just school pictures. Get a grip.
I flipped them around, and just as I thought, nothing. Nothing horrendous, but certainly nothing good either. My hair looked stringy like  it always does, falling flat around my face. My forced smile did little but to accentuate my braces and my pale, white skin was anything but luminous. I just looked...empty. No, more like death warmed over.
"Same as usual," I said, already shoving them back in the packaging.
"Common. Let me see," Brie prodded.
I handed them over and watched ad nauseam as she took them back out. She looked at them thoughtfully.
"What! These are fine Mara," she smiled. "Really, they are not bad pictures."
They're fine
Not good. Not bad. Just fine. Fine is the word people use when they really have nothing good to say, but don't want to hurt your feelings.
"Sure. Thanks," I said.
She gently slid them back in as if I would care if they were to get torn or crumpled and handed them back to me.
I bent down to tuck them into my backpack
on the floor next to me when I heard her voice. The voice that riddled me with anxiety, fear and rage.
"Nice pic's. I'm sure Cam can't wait to hang that in his locker."
Janey Stiller. The bane of my very existence. Former best-friend and fellow 'popular group' leader, she was now the very reason all my former friends had abandoned me, the boys relentlessly tormented me, and I spent most of nights crying myself to sleep. She was making my life a living night-mare. And little did I know, it was about to get much worse.