Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Short S. > The Girl Behind the Door
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1210 guests online and 3 members online |
Shorts
| print friendly version | |
| The Girl Behind the Door | |
| By CrazyBubbles | ||||||||||||
| 16 March 2007 | ||||||||||||
|
I wrote this story back in middle school. To me, it embodies the conflicts that all teens face in our middle school years. We feel torn between a need to be "cool" and "popular," and yet, beneath that, there is a need to break free and discover our own identities. I stood on her doormat, but my mind was somewhere else. I wanted to run home, to curl up on my bed, to forget none of this had ever happened. I felt as if I was watching myself from a distance, calling out from across the street, “Don’t do it! Don’t push the button!” Yet, staring at orange blinking doorbell illuminated in the waning November afternoon sunlight, I knew I couldn’t turn back. As my trembling fingers reached out towards the menacing button, all of a sudden, my mind was filled with the sound of frantic voices. I was strutting through the doors of the school cafeteria, lunch bag in hand, five hours previously….. As I walked across the pallid tiled cafeteria floor, a roar of voices reached my ears. I moved past the blinking vending machine and between the crowded tables. I could feel heads turn in my direction. The racket seemed to die down for a moment as people stopped mid-conversation to stare. If you saw me walking down the middle school hallway, you might stop to look twice, too. My long, perfectly trimmed chestnut brown hair swishes gracefully as I move. After weeks of sitting on the beach, sizzling in the sun, you can still see my summer tan. My lips shimmer with cherry flavored lip gloss and thick mascara highlights my sea green eyes. Perhaps I’m most stunning for what I wear ----- tight, low-cut jeans, shimmering tanks tops, popular brand named sweatshirts, and, most dazzling of all, 3 inch-heel sandals which reveal my pearly pink painted toenails. I made my way to the center of the room, awaited by a table swarming with giggling girls. As their heads turned in my direction, they pushed apart, clearing a space for me to sit at the table. I squeezed into the hectic mob and pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a Dr. Pepper. “Layla!” Kara walked up with her lunch tray and inched herself into the seat next to me, ignoring the empty spaces on the other side of the table. “I LOVE your hair today!” I chewed my sandwich absentmindedly, catching bits of conversation between sips of soda. “Did you hear about……..is she actually going out with………totally weird………Layla!” “Yeah?” I had been spacing out, staring at the flashing vending machine across the room. “Guess what?” Shelly stared eagerly across the table, obviously bursting to feed me a new piece of juicy gossip. As she waved her hands in the air animatedly, her lustrous pink nails caught my eyes. Was she wearing the same polish as me? Before I could be annoyed, I remembered that I had copied the idea from Kara when I noticed her wearing it last month. Without waiting for my response, Shelly burst out, “Nina Whitten just moved into the house next door to yours!” The girls around me gasped and leaned in closer to hear what else Shelly had to say. Whatever there was that was so thrilling about Nina Whitten, I hadn’t grasped it. Realizing I was the only one who hadn’t understood the importance of Nina’s piece of news, I tried to seem interested. “She used to go to a school in New York City, a private school, I think. Anyways, I’ve heard that she was, like, a really popular girl. She played sports and had all these awesome parties.” “She’s my new neighbor?” I had noticed the moving van outside the house next door to mine last week, but hadn’t seen a teenage girl among the movers. “Yeah, well, that’s what my mom told me. Maybe you should, like, go meet her after school today----- let her know that she can sit with us at lunch if she wants!” The thought of this new neighbor sent a wave of apprehension through my mind. There was going to be another girl at our table---a popular preppy girl? I worried, just like I did every day with my friends, that I wouldn’t be good enough for her. Would she like my clothes and my hair? Would she see through my giggles and forced smiles to my embarrassment and awkwardness? Worst of all, would she challenge my popularity? All these upsetting thoughts ran through my mind, but I grinned, trying to appear relaxed. “Cool,” I said, trying to clear any anxiety from my face, “I can’t wait to meet her.” “You are SO lucky she’s moving in next to you!” said Shelly, stuffing a potato chip between her rosy painted lips. “Yeah,” I said, sort of weakly. I caught Kara staring at me. Had she sensed my uneasiness? “Hey, Kara! Look at Sammy Smith’s new clogs---are they ugly or what?” I giggled. The other girls bought my cover up, and all heads turned away towards Sammy’s table. I ate the rest of my lunch without talking, feeling my sandwich churning in my stomach. As I walked out of the cafeteria, I held my head high and flashed my paper white teeth at the people around me, although my heart throbbed in my chest and my face felt hot. The clock on my bedside table read 4:10. I had arrived home an hour ago and hadn’t moved from my room since, hoping to be comforted in the security of my own space, but not even the walls of my own room could soothe me. For some reason, today I felt uncomfortable and nervous in these quarters. I felt like a stranger surrounded by my hot pink walls and celebrity posters; ever since my friends helped me to redo the place last year, it didn’t feel right. I had torn down the childhood drawings and animal pictures and replaced them with pictures of attractive actors and the latest pop singers, my new image. I wasn’t always this way. When I was younger I used to be relaxed about my appearance and my actions. I played with all the children on the playground in elementary school, no matter what clothes they were wearing. I didn’t gossip or label people “weird” or “nerdy”. I didn’t lie about who I really was. In kindergarten I wore aqua blue corduroys while all the other girls wore flowery pink dresses----but I didn’t care that I looked different. I had two close friends. I would tell them my secrets, knowing that they would keep them safe. I would tell them everything I thought and felt, knowing that they would appreciate me for whatever I said. Then, as fifth grade came to an end, my parents gave me a piece of horrible news: we were moving! I was traumatized to think of leaving the school and town that I felt so comfortable in. I would have to say goodbye to my friends and every person I had come to know. I would have to start all over again. At my new middle school, I was introduced to a completely new type of social scene. Here, I became aware of girls in mini-skirts and short spaghetti strap tops. Thick mascara, blush, and lip gloss hid any imperfections. Here, girls and boys held hands in the hallway. Here, girls whispered strange stories about others girls behind their backs. Here, students passed notes in class and spread rumors when the teacher wasn’t looking. I felt the eyes of my peers surveying my outlandish bright blue pants and casual t-shirts. Their stares cut through me like sharp knives, leaving wounds that hadn’t healed since. Soon I felt myself going to new extents to avoid their offensive gazes. Maybe such gazes hadn’t existed at my old school. Maybe I simply hadn’t paid them any attention. Now I was changing, adapting to fit into my environment. I was becoming much more concerned about appearance, about looking and acting in a way that was considered “cool”. My old friends were replaced by preppy girls in skimpy clothes, girls who were only interested in me because of my fashionable outfits. They were probably once as carefree as I was, but, just like me, they felt a need to cover up their true selves. There was more to all of us than met the eye. Now, I stood in front of my dresser, the top drawer open, surveying the piles of clothes. My hands moved for the new baby pink sequined shirt I had bought last weekend with my friends at the mall, but stopped. I pulled out the cozy, slightly baggy blue sweater I wore on weekends, the one that my mom had found for me at the thrift store. I looked from one shirt to the other. Pink or blue? Flashy or casual? Which would Nina accept? She had been popular at her old school, which probably meant that her closet was filled with brand name t-shirts and tight, low-cut jeans. If she was like my other friends, she would want me to wear the pink, sequined shirt. Yet, did I want to make the same false impression on her as I did with my friends? Would she accept me in the clothes that I chose to wear outside of school? As I stepped out the door, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The blue sweater clung loosely to my shoulders, complementing a pair of green corduroys, my favorite to wear on cool, Saturday afternoons, when no one was there to observe me but my parents. For once, even though my knees felt weak and my head was light with nervousness as I strode down my front steps, I wanted someone to see me as me. As awkward as I felt, today I had started to realize my limit; I couldn’t pretend forever. A cool breeze whispered through the trees. Fiery red leaves were strewn across the sidewalk. I watched them float down the street in the wind. My nose and cheeks stung in the bitter chill. I wrapped my arms around myself, for the warmth was quickly seeping from my skin. As I made my way down the road, I listened to the crackle of leaves underfoot. Today this rustle should have seemed cheery, but each crunch seemed sharp and harsh. My legs moved slowly across Nina’s lawn, but my mind was racing. How would I greet her? Would I giggle like I did with the girls at lunch? Is this how I would want to be welcomed? Maybe I would greet her the comfortable warm way I would greet a teacher or a family member, with a simple “Hi! I’m Layla.” Then, what if she asked about school, about what I liked to do? Would I try to impress her by talking about my friends and the parties I had been to? I stood on her doormat, but my mind was somewhere else. I wanted to run home, to curl up on my bed, to forget none of this had ever happened. I felt as if I was watching myself from a distance, calling out from across the street, “Don’t do it! Don’t push the button!” Yet, staring at orange blinking doorbell illuminated in the waning November afternoon sunlight, I knew I couldn’t turn back. As my trembling fingers reached out towards the menacing button and I thought back to every time I had tried to cover up this same anxiety with a laugh or a rude remark, I was overwhelmed with anger. Not anger at my “friends,” but anger at myself for pretending to be someone that I wasn’t and feel things that I really didn’t. I bit my lip and jabbed the bell with my shaking finger. I heard a quick “buzz” from within the house and then, almost immediately, the door was flung open. For a moment, I didn’t breath. The girl standing in front of me was….different than I had expected. An over-sized, blond head was supported by a broad neck on her small shoulders. Her arms were short and pudgy, and her stubby legs lifted her head only three or so feet above the ground, to just above my waist. She was, without a doubt, a dwarf. I had never seen a dwarf before. As I scanned her minute body, I realized my mouth was slightly open in awe and I closed it quickly. I was stunned; she looked nothing like the preppy, stylish, jock girl I had pictured and been intimidated by. What would the other girls say? Before I could sort everything out in my head, Nina looked up at me. I was taken aback to see her smile----not a nervous smile, not a scared smile like those of some of the girls who looked up to me in the cafeteria, but a warm, welcoming smile. My mind went blank and I forgot all of my previous questions. “Uh….hi….I’m…I’m Layla,” I said with a shy wave, staring down at Nina. Then, effortlessly, without even trying, I grinned. I don’t know why I grinned. This definitely wasn’t how I acted around the other girls at school, something was different. I felt something change inside of me, but I couldn’t quite place it. “Hey! I’m Nina! You must be the girl from next door!” I was surprised to hear her talk. I had never heard a dwarf speak before. I had almost not expected her to be able to. I couldn’t believe how normal she sounded. “Want to come in?” she asked brightly, “You must be cold standing out there!” Why should I go in her house? If the other girls found out I was hanging out with a dwarf........yet, Nina had stirred something inside of me. As I looked into her shining, welcoming face, my feet started to move towards the door. “What are you doing?” the imaginary girl standing across the street yelled, “Are you crazy?!” Yet, somehow, I knew I was saner than I had been in a long time. As Nina gestured for me to follow her inside, I snuggled my sweater around me and stepped over the threshold.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|