Hugely Invisible.

She looked in the mirror. She didn't see anything she liked as her dirty hair fell around her chubby cheeks and down past her thick arms and oversized breasts. She didn't feel anything. She couldn't look any longer. She closed her eyes.

She walked into the shower and turned on the water. She ran her fingers through her softening hair and felt it trail against her lower back. The color was fading and her bangs were growing, but she didn't mind.

She stood under the spray of the water for awhile. Her body smelling of bottled Japanese Cherry Blossoms and Green Apple shampoo. She stood there until the water ran cold. She stepped out of the shower and glanced in the mirror at her dripping skin. She looked away as she wrapped an old white towel around herself, leaving a two inch gap between the ends where her body got in the way.

She leaned down and wrapped another towel around her soaked, but soft, hair. Then she turned around and stared in the mirror. Her face was blemished and her eyes were sad. She looked over her features unhappily. She was happy she had hair to hide behind.

With her hair out of her face, everyone could see. She washed her face quickly and put in her contacts, taking an extra moment to stare at the color of her eyes as they changed into one that she'd never seen replicated. A dark and glassy green.

She turned her iPod off, cutting all sound in the bathroom, and she listened as the voices on the television floated down the hallway and in between the floor and the bottom of the wooden bathroom door. She looked at herself once more before she pulled open the door and hooked a left, passing her sister's purple room as she moved into her own.

She shut and locked herself into her room, dropping her towel to the hardwood floor. She located a pair of her nice underwear and pulled them on. She glanced down at her legs and looked away quickly, wishing again that they wouldn't touch or jiggle when she moved.

She reached into her top drawer and pulled out her bra. She dressed in it quickly, uncomfortably, and moved to her closet, away from the image of herself that was reflected on her TV screen. She looked at the depleting supply of clothing that hung in her half-empty closet. Her jeans were being worn down as the threads on her inner thighs rubbed together again and again.

She reached for a tight pair of fading gray jeans and threw them onto the messy blankets that covered her bed. She rifled through the shirts that hung on hangers and pulled out an old band t'shirt from a show she went to. She looked average, inconspicuous, big.

She dressed and then unlocked her door.

Never once had she felt comfortable in her own skin. But she never let herself think about that for too long. She walked into the hallway and glanced in the floor to ceiling mirror. She moved to the bathroom and combed out her damp hair. She felt a little more relief when her outgrown bangs covered more than half of her face, including most of the acne that spanned her once clear skin.

She brushed her hair smooth and ran her fingers through the strands as they grouped together because of the moisture that wasn't soaked up by the towel.

Sometimes she reached for the cover-up that sat next to the sink and sometimes she tried not to care. Today she smeared the light liquid over her face, blending it under her chin. She felt a little better as it dulled the color of the blemishes.

She picked up her eyeliner and coated the waterline of her eye. She never used much for school. She knew in a couple hours it would just be smeared and causing trouble. She also knew that she couldn't look any better, so she capped it and set it above the sink.

She shut the door of the bathroom nervously and stepped back. She took the frown off of her lips and replaced it with a forced smile. One that people had come to believe over the years. She looked in the mirror, her eyes scanning over every inch of herself.

She closed her eyes and made a silent wish. It was the same wish everyday but today she wished extra hard. She wished to be smaller, to be beautiful. She wished that he could love her for who she is. She wished the boy on the bus would see what was inside of her instead of the fat that sat on the outside, masking who she really was.

Everyday was a struggle for her. Everyday she battled to see what others couldn't. She struggled to make him understand that there was more to her. And that "more" wasn't referring to her outside appearance.

She opened her eyes and gave up with a look of defeat. She would never win this battle.

Today was the last day. Today was the day where she'd stop caring. But in all honesty, today was the day that she'd stop eating. Again.

She smoothed her baggy shirt over her stomach and nodded once. It was time to go. She pulled socks on and slid her feet into her tattered tennis shoes. She tucked the laces in and stood up, grabbing her bag before she walked down the driveway to wait for the yellow vehicle to take her to a place of judgement.

She slid her aviators over her eyes and fixed her hair as the wind picked it up and tossed it in the wrong places. She took a deep breath and sucked in her stomach as the bus turned onto her street. She knew he would be there. She knew he'd never see her.

She turned up her iPod and stuck the buds in her ears as it grew closer. She drowned out of the sounds of the kids as she climbed the three steps. She looked to the middle of the bus slowly. Her eyes nervously met the eyes of those who stared. Then she saw him and hoped no one could see her look away quickly, defeated. He sat there, plugged into his iPod, looking so stunningly gorgeous, looking anywhere but at her.

She took her seat and pretended not to care. Now all she wanted was the final bell to ring, signaling the of the day so she could climb the bus stairs and see his shaggy hair and slim face again as he sat in the seat behind the one that was hers. She couldn't help but hope that he'd notice her.

She knew she was dreaming. She knew it would never happen. He would never happen. But she lived for the little moments she'd see him on the bus and the days he'd sit behind her after school, speak to her, smile at her. Those were the days were she felt the worst about herself.

But she loved those days. The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice. It wasn't his fault that she wasn't beautiful. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't really see her.

He was entirely real. But to her, he was just a hope. One that she wanted with every inch of who she was.