Creating Perfection

A jock. A smart guy. The model student. The best of the best, dad’s pride and joy.

Who would think that I hated my life, that I hated who I am?

It was with a hefty sigh and great trepidation that I rolled out of my luxurious king sized bed each morning. It was always with reluctance that I put on my mask of smug greatness before walking down the stairs each morning for breakfast. No matter what, each day, I would cringe as I walked past the wall of trophies, the trophies that I had earned, the trophies that my star older brother had earned.

Upper class society expected me to be the best, and I was. I had the good grades, I was the star athlete at the institution I called a school. I had made a name for myself and made my father proud, and by God I hated it.

My father was gone by the time I made it down the stairs into the kitchen. I hardly saw him, what with his work and my sporting commitments, but I know that he was proud of me. Who couldn’t be proud of a straight A student who was the best of the best in every sport?

“Morning, mum,” I stopped off and placed a kiss on my mother’s cheek as I headed towards the fridge. Model student, model son. Like I said, I was the best.

“Good morning, Daniel,” my mother smiled at me with her perfectly coloured lips, her expertly manicured hand reaching towards me across the bench. My mother looked the part of the rich wife. My sister, she looked the part of the richest, most popular girl at school. And I guess I looked like the man I was trying to be.

My denim jeans that fit snug about my hips, the waistband of my brand name underwear on display for the world to see. The Quicksilver t-shirt I wore was fitted, designed to show off my lean physique. My entire outfit just screamed designer, screamed perfection. And my hair, waxed into that perfect surfy look. That look that made all the girls go wild.

Just once I’d love to be able to pull on some old trackies or a shirt I picked up from Target, and leave my hair how it was. Just once, I’d love to be able to go around how I wanted to, without needing to impress anyone.

The bulky silver watch on my wrist, the one my father bought for me when I made it onto the football team, brought me back into reality as I realised I was almost late. I grabbed a muesli bar from the pantry, not having the time for anything else, and slung my designer bag over my shoulder. Another quick kiss planted on my mother’s cheek and I was out the front door, heading across the perfectly kept lawn and into my brand new car, a blue commodore.

I barely made it into the school car park on time, and the warning bell sounded as I was almost at the front doors. A few “friends” of mine waved and called out, and of course I returned the gestures out of obligation. Inside I was cringing again, I just wanted to be able to walk across the school and be unknown, how could anyone possibly want the hell I have?

A girl waved to me from barely inside the doors. She was the perfect cheerleader, she had the gorgeous body. She was the girl that everyone wanted, and I had her. And I hated it. I hated how shallow she was; I hated how shallow I had to be around her. But she came with the deal. I needed her to look the part.

I pushed past a guy in the doors as I approached her, and I smiled in that sickening way as she attached herself to my body.

“Well hey there, baby,” I wanted to cringe again as the words came out of my mouth; this wasn’t who I wanted to be.

“Hey baby!” a barely repressed shudder passed through me at her voice, I couldn’t stand it. I wanted so dearly to tell her where to get off, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Even if I did get rid of her, there would be more. There were always more girls who wanted me, who wanted to be with their idea of perfection, an idea that was far from my own view.

But one thought ran through my head as I set my books down on my usual table in the back row in History. I high fived the guys I’m supposed to be friends with as the teacher droned on, caught in conversation with that Elizabeth girl.

But one thought ran through my head as my name was mentioned.

I, Daniel Grey, am nothing but a faker.