My dad says I'm beautiful. He says that all the time. But he's lying. I know he is. Because he's my dad.
I'm ugly. I know I'm ugly because the kids at school say I am. Even the guys. The same guys who take me places no one can see. Sometimes when we're there, they even make me feel beautiful; that's why I go. But after, when we're in front of people, when it's just kids joking around, they say it too. How ugly I am. And I believe it. Because everybody says it.
Why would they say it if it wasn't true?
My dad says they're jealous, that the girls only say it because they don't want people to notice how pretty I am, and that then the guys just go along. “But that doesn't stop them, does it?” he says. “They still want to be with you when no one else is around. Don't you see? Don't you see they know you're pretty?” No, I don't see. They want to to with me just to have fun, and I let them have fun, because that's the only reason they'd be there. There where I get to feel beautiful. But after, when it's not just us anymore, they tell me the truth. That I'm ugly.
They wouldn't just say that, would they? Right in front of everyone?
Why would they say it if it wasn't true? Why would they say it just to be mean?
Copyright 2012 James B. Chevallier