The Secret The Cheerleader Doesn't Know

Hazel Winters PT. 2

For the upcoming chapters, there will be many references to abuse (all kinds - even sexual abuse), suicide/depression, drug use, and victim blaming. Please do not read the next few chapters unless you are mentally prepared to face those topics. In a later chapter, I will post what was discussed and explain what happened in a non-detailed version for those who choose to skip those chapters.

This chapter holds such topics. Please be cautious about your mental state before reading.

(Age 13)

"14," I said.

"Correct," our teacher said, pointing over at Winters, "what's the answer for question 25 James?"

"236," he shrugged.

"Correct once again," our teacher smiled, even clapping for him.  James Winters... the golden boy to all the teachers in our middle school.  He's good at math, at English, at science and history.  He's on the basketball team and is part of student government.  Everyone talks about him, a lot of girls like him, and the boys call him the 'MVP'.... annoying is what he is.

Packing everything up, I grumbled to Kaitlyn, "I swear, Mr. Porter wishes James was his son."

"I've heard him tell the other teachers that he wished the girls could be half as smart as him," she rolled his eyes, "Mr. Porter is known to be sexiest."

"Lovely," I mumbled.  As I tugged my bag onto my shoulder, I glanced over and met his eyes.

Then he mouthed something to me, making me blush.

"What's wrong?" Kaitlyn asked.

"Nothing... let's go," I said, glancing back to see he turned his attention to his group of populares.

~

Sitting on my bed, I was reading Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.  It was a book created before it's time: feminism, awareness to abuse, and the truth of rich society.  It was a masterpiece - a novel worth every dollar and more.

There was a knock on my bedroom door, causing me to yell, "Come in!"  And in stepped James Winters.  He was all sweaty from basketball practice - his hair a mess.  He placed his bag by my desk and took a seat beside me.

"What are you reading?" He asked.

"Look at the cover," I said, hearing him sigh.  He leaned forward to see, then snickered.  "What?"

"Of course you'd read something like that," he mumbled, "you're nothing like a normal girl."

Placing my book in my lap, I glanced over at him, "What do you mean?  What's a 'normal girl'?"

"A normal girl," he shrugged, "they read magazines, gossip, worry if their hair is pretty and nails are painted nicely.  Girls worry about their clothes and if boys like them enough... not read ancient novels."

"You're just mad that you don't know the book," I said.

"Yes I do," he mumbled, "everything you're reading, I've read it maybe a year or two ago.... boring.  All it talks about is a woman who is ugly that somehow scores a rich guys.... a false narrative."

"What?" I asked, "So you're saying average girls can't marry wealthy and successful men?"

"Why would wealthy and successful men want to marry average?" He asked, "They could have top models, the best of the best... why settle for trash?"

"Unbelievable," I muttered, "you know nothing."

"Oh really?" He asked, chuckling at me as if I'm stupid, "How many guys hit on you at school?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Answer the question," he said.

I thought about it and muttered, "I've had a boyfriend before."

"Joshua Curts.... and he broke up with you to go with Valerie... the hottest girl in school," he laughed, "no guy with a brain goes for ugly girls."

I felt... hurt.

I know I'm not a stunner but I didn't think I was ugly.  Looking down at the cover, I twisted my lip as he continued to insult me, "Your problem is you're way too focused on reading books like these and studying.  How about you spend some time into fixing your appearance."  I wanted to cry.  I felt myself crumble as he stared at me.  Then suddenly he took one of my sloppy blonde curls and whispered, "If you wore makeup, lost some weight, and started acting more girlish... I would totally date you."

My eyes widened.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

He shrugged, "Yeah, but you have to do what I said... I'm not some idiot guy who'll date less than him." 

Glancing down at Jane Eyre, a book I've loved since I was 11... a book my mother gifted me and told me changed her life... I leaned over to the trash bin and tossed it in.

I started learning how to style my hair... how to tame the crazy locks.  At 4 A.M., I went for mile runs and I skipped breakfast - cutting my meals down to 2 a day and less than 500 calories for each meal.  I watched the girls who put makeup on and learned some techniques.

I stopped staying up late to study - I stayed up late setting my hair so it was good for the morning.  I stopped hanging out with Kaitlyn and started talking to Valerie and the other popular girls.  I lost 20 pounds in one month and got a whole new wardrobe.

I realized how right James was.  Boys who never gave me a second look we're now gawking over me.  Left and right I had guys speaking to me and asking me out.  At first I was overwhelmed, but Valerie taught me how to handle them.

"Give them a little bit to hold on and they're yours forever."

So I kissed a few guys, hugged some others, and agreed to be someone's girl if they did something for it.  At the end of the day, I was becoming more and more loved.

Tying my hair back, a knock came on my door, "Come in!"

In came James, dropping his stuff off as usual.  Instead of going to the bed, he walked over to me, "You look so different... how's it feel to be the top dog."

I chuckled, "I should have tried this before... I probably would have had whoever I wanted."  I watched him nod and lean against the wall.  It was obvious something was wrong.  Turning to him, I asked, "What's wrong?"

He sighed, "Remember how I said I would date you?"  I nodded, hanging onto his words.  He took a moment and said, "Well... I'm actually going out with Valerie... sorry."

"But why?" I asked, confused, "I did what you said."

"Yeah but Valerie is way prettier," he shrugged, "and you've got a bunch of other guys looking at you now, so who cares."

"Who cares?"

I was fuming with anger... with hatred.

But not at James... I understood why he wanted Valerie.  She was prettier, skinner, was the queen of our school.

That just means I have to tear her down.