Flawed

People pretend they know me. They pretend they understand how I'm some bimbo that couldn't solve a math problem to save my life. These people think they know how I've slept with every decent guy in the grade -- that I'm some model-like whore.

But they don't know me at all.

These people saw the blonde-haired girl who wore a perfect while smile all day, every day. They saw the glistening blue eyes I lined with make-up every morning and the perfectly manicured nails that tapped feverishly on the graffiti-covered desks at school.

They saw the girl I've so flawlessly created over my broken, bruised self -- the one hidden by fashionable clothes and layers of make-up.

I wasn't always like this, though. I had feelings, I cared about others, I actually tried in school. But I was invisible to everyone; invisible to the girls like the one I have become today, and to the boys who played sports and whose smile made everyone melt.

I had friends who knew how to keep secrets, who would comfort me when I was ignored by people at school, by my mom.

I had a real life -- not one I spent living behind a façade.

It was just that one day, that life was no longer good enough for me. I needed change, I yearned for it.

So, finally, the summer before freshman year, I transformed myself into a girl my old, middle-school self would hardly recognize.

I lost weight, I actually took care of my hair and tanned everyday on the front lawn. I introduced myself to Sephora and bought an entire new wardrobe.

And then, boom! Suddenly on the first day of freshman year, eyes followed me. People talked to me.

I had become someone people would see, someone they could recognize when I walked down a hallway.

Even at first, with all this new change, I tried to remain friends with the people who I had grown the closest to during my earlier academic career. But it was when Vanessa Golding, the most popular girl in our grade, made it painfully clear that it was either them, the 'losers,' or her, guess who I chose.

Let's just say I didn't pick the kids who had stayed by my side through everything. Not Maddie, my best friend since first grade.

And I missed her so much, wishing I could go back to wearing frumpy clothes and laying on our beds all day making fun of the girls I had forced myself to become, all the while secretly wishing someday, we actually could be one of them.

And even when I missed her so much, I would give up the new life I had created for myself because -- let's face it -- I had accomplished my dream, right? I had become popular. I had made a name for myself. I was envied.

But even as I tried to convince myself this was true over the last four years, I still sometimes wonder if it was really and truly worth it.

- + -

Vanessa was standing in front of my full-length mirror holding up two shades of eyeshadow that looked exactly alike.

"Baby blue or sky blue," she asks, voice high-pitched and sounding as if it took so much brain power to form that one sentence - or to read the bottom of the two make-up containers.

"They're indistinguishable to me." My voice sounds tired and bored even to my own ears and to make up for my lack of enthusiasm, I smile at Vee in the mirror.

She gives me this confused expression in return, and I marvel at the fact that she doesn't understand the usage of 'indistinguishable' in my sentence.

"They look exactly the same," I correct, and she grins at me, pearly white teeth glistening in the August sun that poured through my window.

"Then just say that, silly. No need to go all nerdy on me."

A laugh forces its way out of my throat like second-nature and I flop onto my bed, "It's too hot up here."

"Oh my god, I know," Vanessa groans, "It's, like, a hundred degrees up here."

The fan in the corner of my room made another rotation, blowing papers and numerous other things around, along with the hot air from one part of the room to the other.

"Why don't you have an air conditioner? In my room, it had those built-in vent thingys so it's always nice in there." Even without looking at her, I can tell she's trying to hide the humid exhaustion and disgust in her voice, but the condescending tone I've grown accustomed to over the past four years leaks through anyway.

"I'll have to talk to my mom," I respond, knowing I didn't have any intention of asking in the first place.

My mother would never allow it, and it's not like she would care if I died up here from over-heating anyway.

It's been like this ever since my parents divorced when I was ten. When they were together, I was the common link that connected them - a melting pot of their DNA. The fighting started a few days after my ninth birthday, and I took on the job of playing peacemaker -- I was Switzerland in a war between Germany and the U.S.

When I failed to keep the serenity around the house, when my well-intentioned actions finally failed, I think my mother blamed me. It was my fault I could no longer play Ghandi in an already lost-cause battle.

The day those papers were signed, legalizing my parents' divorce, my mother made it crystal clear how I had been a disappointment to her.

I was ten, pretending to be a fully-matured adolescent to keep my parents' marriage from bursting at the seams (more than it already was), and somehow, in my mother's twisted, dysfunctional mind of her's, I was still a disappointment.

From then on, I tried my hardest to gain some sort of approval from her -- especially when I went through my 'transformation,' I thought she would be proud of the girl I had become.

My mother didn't even notice.

- + -

The sun was out and shining in the blue sky, and the convertible top of my car was all the way down. Vanessa threw her hands up into the air that was still wet with the nighttime summer dew, and squealed to the music playing through my Mini Cooper's speakers.

"Ah, I love this song!" Her voice rain out above Ke$ha's lyrics and I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping beyond hope that she would not break out into song.

Vanessa may seem perfect, but her musical talent was severely lacking.

My wishes were in vain, though, because she reached forward, metal bracelets clanking, and turned off the radio.

The roads of our town were silent as we drove down them and Vanessa finally broke the silence by saying, "So. You and Jackson."

My grip on the steering wheel tightened, my knuckles turning every shake of red before completely white. "I don't like him."

"Oh, c'mon! I know you do."

I didn't. Not one bit. Every ounce of my being, every cell in my body, was revolted by the very sight of him. Although he might have good-looks and a ladies' man charm, it was guys like him - pigs like him - that made me wonder if I'll ever find a decent guy to marry.

"And you know," I turning to glance at her, the wind whipping my hair around, "I think I saw him looking at you the other day. I bet he wants to date you!"

This blush creeps across her already tan cheeks and she quickly shakes her head. "Nuh-uh, Payton. Nope."

I force myself to keep from roll my eyes. It's so blatantly obvious that she likes him that it makes me question how dumb Vanessa thinks I am -- or how stupid she really is.

"Come on, Vee. It's so obvious."

There's a defeated sigh followed by, "Oh no, really? Do you think he can tell?"

Yes. "Nope, just play it cool, though, and he'll be clay in your hands."

We pull into the school parking lot then, kids pouring off the buses and car doors slamming closed. I make sure to pull into the empty space next to Jackson's car just as he's getting out of his Jeep. Vanessa practically bolts from my passenger seat and propels herself into a hug, her body pressed tightly against his.

Playing it cool, Vee. Nicely done.

"Oh, whoa...uh, hey there," Jackson says, unsure of himself. He glances at me and I just shrug, sliding out of the driver's seat and slinging my backpack over my shoulders.

After I pry Vanessa away from Jackson, practically needing a crowbar, we talk for a bit about the summer and how much we hate being back, but how very exciting it is that we're finally seniors.

I go to say something and suddenly there's this roar of a motorcycle coming from the entrance of the school, the bike easily getting jostled by the rocky parking lot that was reserved strictly for seniors. Parking spaces begin to disappear quickly as the clock ticks closer to homeroom time, and the motorcycle dude finally just decides on making his own space next to mine since I was the end of a row.

He cuts the engine, silence abruptly falling around us, and the sudden volume change throws me off for a second. Birds chirp quickly in the distance and Jackson starts talking with a few of the other guys and girls who had approached our little circle.

I distractedly greeted them, half-watching at the motorcycle guy jumped off the bike and unclipped his helmet, all in one swift motion. He flipped his black hair to the side, running a calloused-looking hand through it before he must have felt someone looking at him.

Mystery Boy, my nickname for him until I actually knew his name, glanced at me, eyes so blue I swear they were almost emitted their own light. One of his eyebrows twitched up, just barely hidden underneath that mop of dark hair, and he grabbed a binder or two, tucked them under his arm and walked away, a cloud of dust from the parking lot hanging in the humid air.

"Earth to Payton!" Someone snapped their fingers in front of my and I blinked a few times before turning back to see Emily, another one of my friends, giving me a weird look. "God, I wonder about you sometimes."

I scoff, "Then you can only imagine what I think about you."

There's a small eruption of laughter in our group, and even Emily smiles, brown eyes twinkling even in the early morning sun. "Good to see you again, girl. I feel like I haven't seen you all summer."

We dove into conversation from there, beginning our dead man's walk toward the front entrance, but more than once, I found my thoughts wandering back to that motorcycle. To Mystery Boy.

Vanessa put her hand on the door and glanced at me and then to Emily, and a few other people. "Here we go, guys. Senior year. Are we ready?"

There was this pit in my stomach as we walked in, the air conditioned air hitting my face, and I realized I wasn't ready for this at all.