Tell Me a Story | ✓

Shoelaces

Shoelaces

Everything has beauty, but not everyone can see it.

Fingering a loose strand of my hair, I sigh at the devastating truth. Why can't society be less strict? Why can't one go out to Starbucks at five in the morning in their pajamas without being judged by at least half of the people they pass? Why can't one decide one morning to not wear make up, and not be looked at with eyes full of disarming thoughts?

Society sucks.

I pull my flat blonde hair into a bun, not giving it a second thought as to what it looks like when strapped with a ponytail. Who cares what those stuck-ups think? I think begrudgingly. After pulling on a pair of knee-length jeans and a red v-neck, I walk to the bathroom and glance at myself in the mirror. My courage plummets and my shoulders sag. I do, of course.

Brushing my teeth and slipping my thick square glasses onto my face, I glance at myself one more time and immediately regret it. I shake my head, clearing the image of my poor, average self and leave the room that makes me the most discouraged. Snatching my book off of my bedside table and slipping my arm through my tote bag's strap, I turn to head downstairs.

"Morning," Mom yawns, and I nod my head at her. I'm too much of a zombie to speak to her right now. She slips her laptop into her large bag and walks over to me, her arms outstretched. I lean into her hug and close my eyes, my body relaxing and my mind yearning for me to walk back upstairs to my bed. I love school, but would it kill them to push the first bell to later on in the day? Possibly noon?

Mom steps away from the hug and I blink my eyes open, turning and pulling open the refrigerator. "Do we have any milk?" I croak, my voice still squeezed tight for not talking for so long.

"Does it look like we do?" I fix my gaze to the vacant spot where the milk usually sits.

"Can you get some on your way home?" I ask, and she laughs.

"Of course." I don't bother to thank her; she knows I mean it anyway. I close the fridge door and decide a granola bar will suffice. Picking two of them out of the pantry, I turn to find Mom already out the door and sliding into her car.

"Bye, Mom," I mutter, and, after devouring my breakfast, make my way to the door too.

Slipping my high tops on, not bothering to tie up the shoelaces, I walk out the door and flip my book open to the page I had left off on last night, flattening the dog-eared page with my fingers and resuming my second life. The story is about a girl who's incredibly polite and nice, but is unbeknownst to the fact that she's beautiful. A handsome boy helps her realize what she is and they fall (well, at least I expect them to fall) passionately in love with each other.

The plot line tugs at my heart strings, my head screaming at me to stop reading the nonsense. There's no chance in hell that anything like this can happen in reality, and this is just leading me on. No one can possibly find any interest in a nobody like me; the silent girl who always has her nose stuck in a book.

"Ah!" I squeak, stumbling and flying my hands out in front of me in an attempt to keep my balance. After catching my breath, I look down to see what I had tripped over. I curse myself mentally when I see that there was nothing but smooth pavement in my path, realizing I had stepped on my own shoelaces. I huff out an agitated breath and kneel down on one knee, turning my book face down on the concrete to keep its page.

As I tie up my shoes, I hear footsteps behind me and my heartbeat picks up. Who's up at six forty-five in the morning? I wonder incredulously, trying to peek underneath my arm to see who's walking up to me. My breath hitches when I see a guy my age, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.