Beautiful by Alex Barba

I hate this one boy. And if I were braver I would tell him so. Right to his face. I’m sure he’s very ugly. Hideous, in fact. I don’t have a basis for comparison. I don’t even know exactly what beautiful or ugly are. What they mean, in the physical sense of the word. All I know is what I can gather from what other people say. And trust me, I know that he must be ugly.

* * *

The bell rings to start the day. I am already sitting in my chair in homeroom. I am always there before everyone else. The noise slowly fills the room around me as I sit there, monitoring each person’s movement. I know when Jim sits down behind me, I hear the exaggerated sigh as he flops into his chair, feel his oversized feet land on the bottom rung of my chair, their usual spot. It is very early, and he stays up late at nights reading. Most days he barely manages a sleepy-sounding “Hey Jane,” before the teacher starts talking.

I know when Kelly Luck sits to my right, and I can feel the way she sits down gingerly and prettily crosses her legs. I imagine she flips her silky hair over her shoulder with her long elegant fingernails before she leans over Jim’s book to see what he’s doing.

“Whatcha reeeadin?” She giggles.

“The Killer Angels,” he answers.

I smile to myself. Jim likes history a lot, especially the Civil War. He told me that he had a dream about it when he was little, that he was one of the Union soldiers at Little Round top, and Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain looked at him and told him to fix his bayonet and charge down the hill. He said it was the scariest thing that he’d ever felt. Jim tells me lots of things like that. About his dreams and stuff.

Kelly doesn’t know what to say about The Killer Angels.

“So what are you doing this weekend?” she asks. She is smiling. You can always hear when a person is smiling. I’m sure she has the most perfectly beautiful smile of anyone at Bear Creek High.

Jim’s feet start tap-tapping on the rung of my chair. He is nervous. “I’m not sure yet. I might be going to the football game.”

But I know that’s not true. He already told me he was going to Gettysburg this weekend. For the first time his father finally said he would take him there, and he was so ridiculously excited when he told me. I feel annoyed. I know he is lying, and I know it’s probably because Kelly is so pretty.

“Oooh really? Well we’re cheering, of course! So I’ll see you there?” Kelly’s face is shining, the heat of it radiates toward me as I sit there, my fingers twisting a piece of paper in my lap.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Jim isn’t smiling as hard as Kelly is, but he’s definitely happy. He’s so calm all the time that any change in his atmosphere at all is noticeable.

“Come on class, listen up,” says Mr. Stratford, and Kelly turns away. Jim’s feet stop tapping, but remain on the rung on my chair. It feels warmer that way.

* * *

When he meets me after algebra, Jim’s energy is light and reminds me of the way bubbles in soda drinks feel in my stomach. I take his left arm and we walk down the hall to our lockers that were placed next to each other.

“So are you really going to the football game?” I ask.

“Yeah I think so.”

“What about Gettysburg?”

“I think I’ll ask my Dad to take me next weekend.” Jim pulls my arm slightly right and I trip slightly as I follow him around a big group of girls talking loudly about something Maybelline.

“But I thought you – ”

I get cut off when a hand is suddenly tapping me repeatedly on the left shoulder. I twist around to slap it away, but the culprit has already pulled back out of reach. It is Ugly Boy.

“Leave her alone, Charlie,” Jim says quietly.

Ugly Boy taps on me one more time just to prove he can before he swaggers off down the hall. I’m quite sure he swaggers. I know he doesn’t run. That much I can feel. He knows Jim won’t chase him or anything.

Jim would never yell at anyone, much less chase someone. I have fantasized about him running after Ugly Boy, maybe tripping him or slamming him into a locker. It wouldn’t actually happen. That’s not Jim. But all the same, I’m happy to have him. I’m lucky, I know. To have a friend who will stick by my side no matter what.

Jim is far from ugly. I remember when we first met three years ago. It was my first day of school. I started out in the 6^th grade, I had been home schooled before and everything was so scary. But there was Jim, sitting behind me in my first homeroom ever. He put his huge feet on the bottom rung of my chair and I was startled. I turned around and reached my hand out to investigate the source of the disturbance. He took it and said “Hi, my name’s Jim,” and I replied “I’m Jane.” At lunch he walked with me through the cafeteria and we sat outside in the grass where I could feel the sun warming my face. After a few weeks my mother let me go over to his house.

I remember that afternoon perfectly. We were sitting on his downstairs couch, and I was telling him about the new music I had been listening to, when I suddenly felt his hand on mine. I was surprised, but the gesture felt natural at the same time. He raised my hand to his face, and I got excited because he must have known I had wanted to do that since I had first met him. Jim has a slightly narrow forehead, and an angular jaw. His nose is thin but his cheeks are soft and full. He has long eyelashes. His lips are bowed and his smile is crooked. He’s tall and slim with bony shoulders.

He is beautiful.

* * *

“So you think maybe Jim likes Kelly.” My mother is hooked. She loves hearing about people from school.

“Everybody likes Kelly, Mom.” I take a bite of peanut butter straight out of the jar. I love the nutty taste, the way it is sweet and salty at the same time.

“But I thought she was dating that other boy? Mark or something?”

“Mom. Kelly is a cheerleader. Mark is football captain. It’s really just all about the math. Yeah, they dated for a while. Anyway, the point is, everybody likes Kelly. She is the prettiest girl in school.”

“I don’t think she is,” Mom says. “Just because she’s blonde and petite … but then again that’s the way it always is. I think your friend Megan is prettier.”

“Megan? No, none of the guys follow her around the way they follow Kelly.”

“That doesn’t mean a thing at your age. It’s all about attitude, Janie-girl.” She brushes a strand of hair from my face. “If you weren’t so matter-of-fact and did the giggly girl thing sometime, you would be the popular girl.” She smiles. “But that’s not my Janie.”

“Mo-om.” I push her hand away. “You always say that.”

“Well, Jim follows you around.”

“He does not. And we’re friends, Mom.”

“I still say he’s quite a catch …”

“Mother, please.”

“But he likes you.”

“Whatever Mom.” I sigh. “I gotta go do my homework.”

I head to my bedroom, four steps away from the kitchen. My mom always tells me I’m beautiful. But when all the girls talk about “beauty,” it all has to do with things I don’t understand. Makeup colors and clothing fits and styles and ways to do your hair to make it look best. I can’t deal with any of it.

I sit down on my bed. I have a soft fleece blanket and a big comfy feather pillow and a big cuddly teddy bear. I sit and I put my hands up to my face. My face is smooth and small, and what my mother calls “heart-shaped.” My eyebrows are high and I have big eyes, but they’re hidden behind sunglasses a lot of the time. My nose is kind of big too, and my mouth is wide. Jim always tells me he likes my smile. I smile thinking about it.

I put my hands down to encircle my waist. It’s small, too, but I’m small all over. I run my fingers through my long curly hair. I think about Jim and the way he always tells Ugly Charlie to leave me alone. I met Charlie on my first day of 6^th grade, too. Didn’t meet. More like encountered. I have never actually talked to Charlie. He started his tapping-me-on-the-shoulder game that first day. Jim told me his name was Charlie, but I hated him instantly and have called him Ugly Boy ever since.

Jim tells me I shouldn’t take any notice of him. He says Charlie sits in the back of classrooms and is never very nice to anybody. He doesn’t have many friends, so I figure he really is ugly. I’ve never heard him speak but the teachers still all like him because apparently he’s really smart. He always wins the writing contest, every year. I hate how he thinks that just because he charms the teachers he can do whatever he wants.

I pick up the phone and dial Jim’s number.

“Hey,” he says in his low mellow voice. I love listening to his voice. There are so many different kinds of voices. So many people have annoying voices, too high voices, grating voices, tight voices, angry voices, impatient voices.

“So, what are you going to do this weekend? Did you decide?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, Kelly really wants me to go to the game. And then she said something about the dance afterwards.”

I am a little shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah. But look, Jane, I can come over on Saturday, ok? It’ll be even better, I was going to be gone the whole weekend.”

I don’t know how to explain to him the fact that I would rather he was miles away visiting some old battlefield than here on Friday for the dance so that he’ll be here on Saturday to hang out with me.

So I just swallow and say, “Alright, well I have lots of homework to do. I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Ok, bye Jane.”

I want to scream a little bit. How can he be so calm about everything all the time? Kelly Luck, the darling of the high school, just asked him out. I know he’s excited. I should be excited for him. We’re good friends.

But I’m just not.

* * *

I sit in homeroom, ignoring the fray around me. Jim comes in, gives me his “Hey, Jane,” but Kelly arrives right after him and immediately begins telling him her plans for Friday night. They’ll meet after the game. She’s cheerleading (of course) so she’ll have to change. She’s wearing some sort of dress, apparently it’s “periwinkle” and made of “poly chiffon” with “spaghetti straps.” I am bewildered, and I can’t stop listening to her. She’s sitting right there next to me. Jim hasn’t said anything, but I know he is watching her intently. I can feel the intensity coming from his eyes, the way I always do when he talks to me about history or war or music. I am actually relieved when Mr. Stratford starts talking.

After homeroom I go to my locker. I leave quickly, while Jim is distracted listening to Kelly. I like it when he walks with me, but I can make it by myself.

“Hey, Jane?”

I almost drop my books. I turn away from my locker and toward the lyrical voice immediately. “What?”

“Well, look, I was just wondering if … if …”

“If what?” I can’t figure out who I am talking to. The presence has no familiarity to it, it is completely different from anything I have ever felt before.

“Would you like to go to the dance with me?”

“What? Who are you?”

“It’s … Charlie.”

I am so taken aback that I am silent for a minute. Stony silence.

“I mean … I heard Jim was going with Kelly … so I thought you’d be free?”

“Um. No.” I can’t think of anything else to say. I have never been asked to a dance before. But I can’t go to a dance with Ugly Boy. He’s probably just asking me as a joke anyway. I hate him.

There is an awkward silence. Then, “Alright.” He begins to turn away.

I lean slightly forward, reaching for the mood with my senses, breathing it in. I feel … disappointment? A subdued thickness of atmosphere. Like after you breathe all the way out and can’t go any farther, right before you breathe back in. Strange.

He’s gone. I turn back to my locker and get my books for class.

* * *

“Honey this is so exciting!”

“It’s not. It’s not a big deal. I don’t even have a date.”

“But it’s your first dance! I can’t believe it! My little girl.” My mom has tears in her eyes. I can hear it in her voice. It’s thick and getting squeaky, the way it does when she talks to my dad on the phone in California.

I’m going to the dance. I don’t know exactly what I’ll do there, but I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll run into Jim and Kelly there and I’ll be able to feel whatever is going on between them.

I’m wearing a dress. I never wear dresses. It feels slippery and tight. It’s uncomfortable. But my mother is overjoyed.

“Honey you look beautiful. Gosh, I can’t believe this! You know the color of this dress, blue? It matches your eyes, and it looks just gorgeous. Oh!” She claps like a little girl. “Let’s put your hair up! All those dark curls up in a knot on your head. It’ll be stunning.”

I usually can’t stand it when my mother gets like this. But it is actually fun, doing this together. Her mood is contagious, and soon I have the feeling that a host of butterflies with their soft, anxious wings are fluttering around in my stomach.

I don’t ever wear makeup, but my mother applies it now, explaining what she’s doing. I hear a lot of words that I’ve heard other girls use in the halls at school every day: “mascara,” “blush,” “lipstick.” I have no idea what the intended effect is, and I have to rely on my mother’s skill and exclamations of “Beautiful!” for my guide.

My father was ugly. I am lucky I got my mother’s genes. He had this skinny, pointy face. His cheeks were pointy and his chin was pointy and his nose was pointy. He had thin hair and small eyes and a small mouth and he never smiled, so I don’t know what that was like. My mother is a lot like me. People always tell her that we look alike.

I am ready.

* * *

I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. I don’t have any friends, really. Megan is always nice to me, but she’s here with her boyfriend Tom. I haven’t been able to find Jim, and I don’t feel comfortable moving around the dance floor (aka the gym) without him by my side, holding my arm. So I am sitting in a chair along the side of the dance, catching too many snippets of too many conversations and hearing the swish of the dresses and the clack of the dress shoes and the bad music that’s blaring from the speakers.

It is my first high school dance and I am alone again. Alone in my world. I feel cold. It is too cold to be wearing a dress like this with these stupid little straps, even if everyone thinks they’re pretty.

“Jane?”

This time I recognize the voice. It is so strange that his voice should be so nice. It’s not low, but it’s not high. When he speaks it sounds almost like he’s singing. He would be a good singer.

But his voice doesn’t fit. He’s ugly. I turn toward him though.

“Would you like to dance?”

“No.”

“Jane …”

“Look just leave me alone okay?” I rise quickly to my feet and move away from where his voice was. It’s ten steps to the door of the gym. I go outside and lean against the door. Maybe I should just call my mom and have her come get me. I feel a little like crying. I don’t, of course, but I do feel pretty pathetic.

“Are you ok? Do you need any help?”

Gosh this guy is persistent. “I’m fine, I don’t need any help, I can get around on my own, thanks.”

“I know you can.”

Is he smiling?

“I’m going to get some punch.” I turn away from him yet again.

“I’ll get it. You don’t want to spill anything on your dress.”

I raise my chin in defiance. “And what makes you think I’ll spill it?” I’m ready to be very insulted.

“You’re just not the most graceful person in the world, that’s all I was saying.”

He is smiling! Asshole. Although he does happen to also be right. Not that I’d ever let him know that. I just give him a glare and make my way back into the gym. I stick to the edges so as to avoid the official “dance floor” area, but there are a lot of people. They run into me in the slightly darkened room and my counts for my steps get off. I am completely confused and I don’t know where the punch bowl is much less the door and Jim is here somewhere with Kelly and let’s face it he’s supposed to be with me he’s my best friend and I knew him first and just because she’s a pretty cheerleader shouldn’t mean she can have whatever guy she wants because he’s my sweet smart beautiful guy and I am pissed.

And completely lost. I keep turning around, trying to find my way out of the throng of people I’ve found myself in, but it’s all confusion and people dancing and of course they don’t notice me. And Jim isn’t here to calmly take my arm and steer me in the right direction, like I’ve come to be accustomed to. I feel like screaming.

And then there are hands on my shoulders and they gently turn me around and guide me out of the noisy mob of sweaty dancing people. I feel the fresh air around me and I take a deep breath but I still don’t feel much better.

“Jim?”

“No, it’s me.”

My throat constricts. “Are you just going to follow me everywhere?” I can feel the pressure in my forehead as I draw my eyebrows down.

“Are you sure you’re ok? Do you want me to help you find your friend?”

I feel slightly relieved. I don’t want to accept help but I really want to find Jim. “Yes.”

“Alright.”

I take his left arm and we make our way around the floor. I can feel Charlie’s concentration as he searches the room for a sign of Jim.

Charlie nudges me. “Found him.” He releases my arm and his presence disappears from my side as suddenly as my favorite familiar presence appears in front of me.

“Hey, Jane.”

“Jane! Well, hi!” Unfortunately, my not-so-favorite presence is with him. Very close to him. Probably hanging on his arm.

“Wow, uh, you look really pretty.”

“Thanks,” I say. The palms of my hands are sweaty, but I actually feel pretty calm.

I can tell he is uncomfortable without even feeling his feet tapping. “Do you wanna … dance or something?”

“Oh come on Jim, we were just about to go outside! You said you needed a breath of fresh air!”

He is very uncertain. I know he can tell I am upset, and it bothers him. He is a good friend.

And I can be a good friend too. “Go ahead, I didn’t really want to dance anyway. Good to see you both. Jim,” I reach my hand out and immediately feel his hand in mine. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Alright …”

And they’re gone.

I make my way back to the chairs alongside the dance and wait.

I wait through a few songs before he comes up.

“So you don’t really want to dance, huh?”

I know he’s ugly and I’m supposed to hate him, but his voice is so nice. And I am sick of sitting here alone. Even if he is doing this as a joke, I don’t care anymore. It is my first high school dance, and I’m going to dance. Well. Except for the one problem.

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“It’s alright. It’s a slow song. It’s really easy. Come on, I’ll help you.”

I feel his hand take mine, and it feels warm and big and soft, except where there are calluses along the edges where his fingers meet his hand. It feels unexpectedly nice, so I let him draw me to my feet.

He leads me onto the dance floor. As soon as we cross a certain line, there is suddenly a lot of heat coming from everyone everywhere. Everyone is really close together, but he leads me straight through and suddenly there’s a space for us, I can feel it around us.

Suddenly I feel very awkward.

“Here,” he says, “put your hands right here.”

He gently takes my arms and puts them around his neck. He’s very tall, and very wide. He puts his hands on my waist and pulls me towards him and I feel this weird feeling, like half of my insides want to sink down to the floor and the other half want to catapult up to the ceiling.

A song starts playing. “This I Promise You” by N Sync. A small laugh of skepticism escapes my nose.

To my surprise, I feel his chest jolt softly in a laugh. I hear he’s smiling as he whispers.

“And this is what they play at a high school dance.”

“I know right?” I whisper back. “Didn’t we get enough of this in middle school?” I am very aware of my hands laced behind his neck. He moves his thumbs back and forth on my waist making me take a deep shaky breath.

“I never meant to make you mad, you know.”

I turn my face towards him. I can feel his earnestness, it hits me full in the face. I can tell when someone is telling me the truth. I can hear every tone, every rise and fall, every little hint in their voice.

“With the tapping and running away? I know it was silly. But I guess you were always with that Jim guy and I just wanted … to touch you in some way.”

I am still silent.

“I just think you’re really … interesting.” Pause. “You’re just, like … interesting. You’re the most interesting girl I know.”

“How could you possibly know that?” I feel him straighten his back. “You don’t know me at all.”

“Come on. I’ve been, like … harassing you since 6^th grade.”

I hear the smile, and I feel a little like smiling but I don’t.

“You always made the greatest face at me, when you’d turn around? You’re very good at looking ticked off.” He’s still smiling. “I got to the point where I couldn’t not annoy you, just to see that face.” I don’t know what the face looks like, but I sure know what it feels like.

I give him the face now and he laughs a little.

“Beautiful,” he says, and I finally let the smile spread across my face and it feels wonderful.

“And I will take you in my arms and hold you right where you belong,” N Sync sings.

I wonder what the other couples dancing look like. But only for a second. Because then Charlie takes one of my hands from behind his neck and places it on his cheek with his own hand.

I don’t know about the rest of his face, but I can tell you that he is definitely not ugly.