The Good Girls.
Not Gonna Pretend.
I watched as she sashayed down the hallway and then around a corner, her skirt waving with her hip movements the whole way. I made a gagging motion at the back of her blonde head, rolled my eyes at the cheerleading outfit she wore. Honestly, I couldn’t see why the school wanted them to be worn during school. It was like they were begging these young innocent girls to drop it all and be just plain...
Slutty.
Speak of the devil and she shall appear.
The tall brunette made sure to slam her oversized, overstuffed purse into me as she passed. I silently flipped her off, waiting for her to glance over her shoulder. Regretfully, that never happened.
“Mel!” I voice screamed from behind me and I could feel the dark haired girl approaching me. She just sent off these vibes. The words ‘brownnoser’ just flowed off of her in waves. “Can you please, please, please help me with this poster?” Her dark brown eyes screamed panic, how could I say no to that?
But still. “Why?” I asked cautiously.
“Because you’re an amazing artist.” I blushed slightly and looked to the blue specked grey tiles. “And Mrs. Collins asked me to.” I nodded.
Mrs. Collins was our band director and hardly had time to make her own posters. This was probably for next week’s contest concert. It was a bit like battle of the bands mixed with a talent show. You could do anything you wanted music related, except dancing, and a panel of judges would score you.
It didn’t matter that the same group won every year.
“You knew I’d say yes,” I muttered as I followed her quick pace down the hallway, “didn’t you.”
She stopped to look shyly back at me, nodding just the slightest bit.
I sighed.
Why did I have to be so nice?
Hell, I’d been doing chores for those damn cheerleading sluts since Freshman year.
------
“You’re coming to the game, right?” Cynthia asked me as she rifled through my closet, behind her stood a mound of clothes that had, only minutes ago, been clean and hanging. I opened my mouth to answer, but she beat me to it. “Of course you are, you’re sitting with me, right?”
Suddenly I felt this absurd anger fill me, like a fire in my stomach. “What makes you so sure I’m going?” I asked loudly, glaring at my shoes because I couldn’t bring myself to glare directly at her. “How are you so sure...”
“Woah, woah, woah.” Cynthia yelled, shoving open hands into me, lifting my head slightly and cutting me off. “You’re in band, you have to go.” She gave me a half-smile that I avoided.
Suddenly the angry fire disappeared and was replaced with this hole.
A hole filled to the brim with hollow guilt.
“I’m sorry.” I murmured, looking at my slightly overlapping toes.
“Don’t be.” She muttered, going at my clothes again. “I totally understand.”
“I’m still sorry, Cyn.”
--------
“Melissa!” Skank, the blonde one, yelled at me. I paused with a fork of rice inches from my mouth. “You so cannot eat that.” She sneered.
I looked at my rice for a moment before looking back up into her bright blue eyes. “Oh yeah? Watch me.”
I rolled my eyes as she gasped at me. It was a crime to eat at this lunch table. Trust me, I would know, I seem to break that law every day around noon, and it always seemed to fill my ‘rebel’ quota for the day. “You’re such a pig.” Slutty, the brunette, looked as if she was about to throw up.
I gaped at her open mouthed, trying to keep tears from welling up in my eyes.
This was my every day life, but I still had to keep reminding myself.
“Leave her alone, guys.” Cynthia muttered from beside me. She was the only decent person on the squad.
It’s probably also why she’s my best friend.
--------
It was Wednesday. Maybe the best day of the week, considering there were no games for me to go to. No nasty cheerleaders to boss me around or berate me. Only me and Cynthia, homework, and a movie cabinet.
It was around five in the afternoon and the two of us were lounging in my living room. She’d picked the movie this time, the Princess Bride.
“My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.” Cynthia said, lowering her voice so she was imitating a manly voice. She then swished her hand like she had a sword before leaning into me, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.
“Just watch the rest of the commercial things.” I muttered messing up her hair until it was a ball of dark fuzz. Most days her hair couldn’t decide whether to be tinted blonde or brown, but I guess it all depended on the light. It was still much like how my eyes couldn’t decide to be gray or green-blue.
Today, in the dim lighting of my living room, her hair was a darker brown and my eyes were a happy blue-green.
“Oh, c’mon!” She yelled in protest, trying to pry herself from my now tight grip around her. “Please let go?” She tried, not sure if it would work.
“Say the magic word.” I demanded, ruffling her frizz a little more.
“Uhmm, snicker doodle cupcake!” She screamed. I laughed and almost let go.
“Nope.” I said lowly, near her ear. “Wrong one.”
“Oh!” She cried. “You meant the other magic word!” I waited for her to say it and when she didn’t I ran a cold finger up her spine. “Fucking uncle!” She screamed, squirming away from me.
“That’d be the right one.” I smiled.
“You’re such a jerk.” She said through the giant smile covering her face.
“Why, thank you.” I smiled back, giving a slight bow.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you were doing anything for the contest.” She asked slyly. She was going to make me sing or something, I could feel it. “Because Julie and-”
“Skank.”
“... Skank and I are doing a clarinet duet.” She paused giving me a look that told me my nicknames were immature. “Maybe you could do a trumpet duet with Lex-”
“Slutty.”
“...with Lexy.” She shoved in before I could interrupt with my crude nicknames.
“Yeah, whatever.” I muttered sarcastically before turning up the volume on the TV. As if sensing it was the perfect moment the movie itself started to play. I sighed in relief, though deep down I knew she’d make me do something.
--------
“Thank you for that beautiful...” There was a pause as the announcer on the other side of the curtain struggled for a word. “That beautiful performance.”
I couldn’t even figure out song they were supposed to be singing.
Or were they killing small kittens?
I would never know, unless of course they left the stage bloody for the next performance.
Us.
I hated myself for letting Cynthia talk me into this.
Slutty stood beside me checking herself out in the brass bell of her trumpet, making faces and pushing her bangs around. I wasn’t even there.
The only reason she allowed Cynthia’s idea to work was because she knew she would have no chance without me. In other words, her trumpet skills? They suck. Ass.
“Next we have a trumpet duet from Alexis Hareton and Melissa Ryans.” She announced and the two of us walked out carrying our trumpets. I stood in front of the stand on the far left of the stage and Alexis stood on the opposite end. I placed my sheet music on the stand, in the corner it told me that it was the Trumpet 2 part, I sighed remembering how Alexis had practically threw a fit when I’d volunteered playing first part.
This was going to sound like shit.
------
Here, I lay, on my bed, massaging my forehead.
Any guesses to why?
It didn’t take a genius to know that my problem started with an ‘A’ and ended with and ‘S’ and had to do with horrible Trumpet skills. We had most likely came in last, but no one had wanted to announce that.
Yes, we sounded worse than the kitten killing duet.
Surprising, I know.
My phone was ringing, or more vibrating against the wooden table, across my room. I payed it no mind, I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Not even Cynthia.
I let my arms drop above my head as I thought about my predicament.
There was no glory in being a good kid. There was no real fame coming from the shameless ‘good girls’ who flip and yell and cheer for the home team, and then do charity work on weekends; only a good resumé. There was no point in doing things for other people who didn’t even respect you enough to use your real name. There was shame in living in other people’s shadows, dreaming of filling them out one day; of being sheep.
Dreaming gets you no where.
Wishing for the impossible can only crush you in the end.
Being the ‘good girl’ isn’t always for the best.
In fact, being the proverbial ‘good girl’ isn’t all that it initially seems. Being the ‘good girl’ sucks.
So I’m not going to pretend to be her anymore.
Slutty.
Speak of the devil and she shall appear.
The tall brunette made sure to slam her oversized, overstuffed purse into me as she passed. I silently flipped her off, waiting for her to glance over her shoulder. Regretfully, that never happened.
“Mel!” I voice screamed from behind me and I could feel the dark haired girl approaching me. She just sent off these vibes. The words ‘brownnoser’ just flowed off of her in waves. “Can you please, please, please help me with this poster?” Her dark brown eyes screamed panic, how could I say no to that?
But still. “Why?” I asked cautiously.
“Because you’re an amazing artist.” I blushed slightly and looked to the blue specked grey tiles. “And Mrs. Collins asked me to.” I nodded.
Mrs. Collins was our band director and hardly had time to make her own posters. This was probably for next week’s contest concert. It was a bit like battle of the bands mixed with a talent show. You could do anything you wanted music related, except dancing, and a panel of judges would score you.
It didn’t matter that the same group won every year.
“You knew I’d say yes,” I muttered as I followed her quick pace down the hallway, “didn’t you.”
She stopped to look shyly back at me, nodding just the slightest bit.
I sighed.
Why did I have to be so nice?
Hell, I’d been doing chores for those damn cheerleading sluts since Freshman year.
------
“You’re coming to the game, right?” Cynthia asked me as she rifled through my closet, behind her stood a mound of clothes that had, only minutes ago, been clean and hanging. I opened my mouth to answer, but she beat me to it. “Of course you are, you’re sitting with me, right?”
Suddenly I felt this absurd anger fill me, like a fire in my stomach. “What makes you so sure I’m going?” I asked loudly, glaring at my shoes because I couldn’t bring myself to glare directly at her. “How are you so sure...”
“Woah, woah, woah.” Cynthia yelled, shoving open hands into me, lifting my head slightly and cutting me off. “You’re in band, you have to go.” She gave me a half-smile that I avoided.
Suddenly the angry fire disappeared and was replaced with this hole.
A hole filled to the brim with hollow guilt.
“I’m sorry.” I murmured, looking at my slightly overlapping toes.
“Don’t be.” She muttered, going at my clothes again. “I totally understand.”
“I’m still sorry, Cyn.”
--------
“Melissa!” Skank, the blonde one, yelled at me. I paused with a fork of rice inches from my mouth. “You so cannot eat that.” She sneered.
I looked at my rice for a moment before looking back up into her bright blue eyes. “Oh yeah? Watch me.”
I rolled my eyes as she gasped at me. It was a crime to eat at this lunch table. Trust me, I would know, I seem to break that law every day around noon, and it always seemed to fill my ‘rebel’ quota for the day. “You’re such a pig.” Slutty, the brunette, looked as if she was about to throw up.
I gaped at her open mouthed, trying to keep tears from welling up in my eyes.
This was my every day life, but I still had to keep reminding myself.
“Leave her alone, guys.” Cynthia muttered from beside me. She was the only decent person on the squad.
It’s probably also why she’s my best friend.
--------
It was Wednesday. Maybe the best day of the week, considering there were no games for me to go to. No nasty cheerleaders to boss me around or berate me. Only me and Cynthia, homework, and a movie cabinet.
It was around five in the afternoon and the two of us were lounging in my living room. She’d picked the movie this time, the Princess Bride.
“My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.” Cynthia said, lowering her voice so she was imitating a manly voice. She then swished her hand like she had a sword before leaning into me, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.
“Just watch the rest of the commercial things.” I muttered messing up her hair until it was a ball of dark fuzz. Most days her hair couldn’t decide whether to be tinted blonde or brown, but I guess it all depended on the light. It was still much like how my eyes couldn’t decide to be gray or green-blue.
Today, in the dim lighting of my living room, her hair was a darker brown and my eyes were a happy blue-green.
“Oh, c’mon!” She yelled in protest, trying to pry herself from my now tight grip around her. “Please let go?” She tried, not sure if it would work.
“Say the magic word.” I demanded, ruffling her frizz a little more.
“Uhmm, snicker doodle cupcake!” She screamed. I laughed and almost let go.
“Nope.” I said lowly, near her ear. “Wrong one.”
“Oh!” She cried. “You meant the other magic word!” I waited for her to say it and when she didn’t I ran a cold finger up her spine. “Fucking uncle!” She screamed, squirming away from me.
“That’d be the right one.” I smiled.
“You’re such a jerk.” She said through the giant smile covering her face.
“Why, thank you.” I smiled back, giving a slight bow.
“Anyway, I was wondering if you were doing anything for the contest.” She asked slyly. She was going to make me sing or something, I could feel it. “Because Julie and-”
“Skank.”
“... Skank and I are doing a clarinet duet.” She paused giving me a look that told me my nicknames were immature. “Maybe you could do a trumpet duet with Lex-”
“Slutty.”
“...with Lexy.” She shoved in before I could interrupt with my crude nicknames.
“Yeah, whatever.” I muttered sarcastically before turning up the volume on the TV. As if sensing it was the perfect moment the movie itself started to play. I sighed in relief, though deep down I knew she’d make me do something.
--------
“Thank you for that beautiful...” There was a pause as the announcer on the other side of the curtain struggled for a word. “That beautiful performance.”
I couldn’t even figure out song they were supposed to be singing.
Or were they killing small kittens?
I would never know, unless of course they left the stage bloody for the next performance.
Us.
I hated myself for letting Cynthia talk me into this.
Slutty stood beside me checking herself out in the brass bell of her trumpet, making faces and pushing her bangs around. I wasn’t even there.
The only reason she allowed Cynthia’s idea to work was because she knew she would have no chance without me. In other words, her trumpet skills? They suck. Ass.
“Next we have a trumpet duet from Alexis Hareton and Melissa Ryans.” She announced and the two of us walked out carrying our trumpets. I stood in front of the stand on the far left of the stage and Alexis stood on the opposite end. I placed my sheet music on the stand, in the corner it told me that it was the Trumpet 2 part, I sighed remembering how Alexis had practically threw a fit when I’d volunteered playing first part.
This was going to sound like shit.
------
Here, I lay, on my bed, massaging my forehead.
Any guesses to why?
It didn’t take a genius to know that my problem started with an ‘A’ and ended with and ‘S’ and had to do with horrible Trumpet skills. We had most likely came in last, but no one had wanted to announce that.
Yes, we sounded worse than the kitten killing duet.
Surprising, I know.
My phone was ringing, or more vibrating against the wooden table, across my room. I payed it no mind, I didn’t want to talk to anyone.
Not even Cynthia.
I let my arms drop above my head as I thought about my predicament.
There was no glory in being a good kid. There was no real fame coming from the shameless ‘good girls’ who flip and yell and cheer for the home team, and then do charity work on weekends; only a good resumé. There was no point in doing things for other people who didn’t even respect you enough to use your real name. There was shame in living in other people’s shadows, dreaming of filling them out one day; of being sheep.
Dreaming gets you no where.
Wishing for the impossible can only crush you in the end.
Being the ‘good girl’ isn’t always for the best.
In fact, being the proverbial ‘good girl’ isn’t all that it initially seems. Being the ‘good girl’ sucks.
So I’m not going to pretend to be her anymore.
♠ ♠ ♠
Word Count = 1,574Feedback is awesomeness.