19.8K 1.1K 801

All my attention is on them as they get closer to our classroom. This is their everyday routine. After lunch, they stay behind in the canteen, make out a bit, then after the bell rings he buys her a cookie, then walks her to class and they're both late, not that they cared.

I don't blame him for wanting her over me.

She was short, tanned, blonde hair, pretty green eyes, co-captain of the cheerleading team, she could act and dance really well, and then there was me. Dark, very dark skin, frizzy hair, dark brown eyes that look almost black, I was as tall as tall gets, and I couldn't perform an art to save my life.

I try to shake the negative thoughts away and think about my good qualities, I was known in my family for always letting my insecurities stop me from achieving my goals, but did I really have any good qualities?

Tall and skinny, could be a good thing, but in my case it wasn't. I was pretty I guess, I mean I wasn't hideous but that wasn't the point.

He had fair, caramel skin, complimented with this hair twisted into brown and golden knots. His eyes like mine but much lighter, and his award winning smile. And even if he didn't look like a greek god, he was still a great person, nice, funny and I wish he wasn't all these things so I could hate him, but he just makes me fall inlove with him more and more each day.

She opens the door and takes her seat, waving to him as he walks away to his own class. The teacher doesn't even bother asking her why she's late cause he already knows, we all do.

It bothers me.

It bother me a lot.

Not knowing whether Niall Horan or Justin Bieber would ever fall inlove with me, because I mean we all have a one in a million chance of marrying them, and someone would one day will. But being black do I even have a chance at all?

I sometimes wish to myself that the world was like The Voice. You don't get to judge a person based on what they look like, you judge them by their voice, or in this case what's inside their heart.

It hurts knowing I didn't even stand a chance with this boy who I tried to stop thinking about but I constantly got sucked back into the memory hole that had to do with him.

Every conversation we've had, the way the corners of his mouth slowly rise forming dimples before he laughs, the way his eyes light up to how he breathes while playing football (not in a hawker kind-of-way).

The teacher goes on and on about biological catalysts and I find my mind drifting off to ways I could tell him I loved him, even though I couldn't.

The Black Girl Where stories live. Discover now