There’s something magical about the fog. It creeps in on velvet paws and covers the earth in a veil of secrecy. The magical mist hides the world’s flaws and makes everything beautiful. Even me.
We don’t get a lot of fog in Wyoming. It’s too dry here in the “high desert.” But sometimes in the winter, we have just enough humidity for a dense cloud of fog. Then, the whole world transforms. Dead grass and tumbleweeds become delicate crystal sculptures. Ugly brown rocks shimmer under a coat of diamond dust. And all of the drab, gray emptiness is obscured in a shroud of mystery. All of the dreary, ordinary, everyday things become magical and wonderful and exquisite. It’s easy to get swept up in the fairy-tale romance of a Wyoming winter mist. I guess that’s why Shane Crawford kissed me.But if this is a fairy tale, someone goofed. I got my kiss from Prince Charming, but this is not “happily ever after!”
I’ve never been the fairy-tale princess type. I’m not beautiful or charming. Flowers don’t bloom at my touch, and birds don’t follow me around, singing happy little songs. I’m 17 years old, and I’ve never even had a boyfriend!
Sure, there was the time in kindergarten when Seth punched Kenny in the nose because Kenny tried to hold my hand. But when Seth moved away at the end of the semester, Kenny lost interest. It’s been downhill ever since. I’m not the kind of girl that guys are attracted to. I’m not ugly, but I’m not very pretty either. The adjective I hear most often when people describe me is “interesting.” I can’t even claim to be “average.”
I’m 5’9” and taller than most girls in my class. I kind of stick out in a crowd. Not in the good way. My feet are too big and my ears are too small. I have a little bump on the bridge of my nose that helps keep my glasses in place but doesn’t do anything to improve my looks.
My eyes are a kind of greenish, brownish gray color that shifts hues from day to day depending upon my mood. My hair couldn’t decide which color to be either. It’s kind of light brown or dark blonde with red highlights and one platinum blonde streak right in the front. It’s all natural, but my best girl friend, Kendra Smith, likes to point out that I look like the practice dummy for a failing beauty school student. The only good thing about my hair is that it’s really long. It curls in soft waves almost to my knees, and it makes a perfect natural screen to hide behind when I need to escape reality. When I can’t hold back the tears, I simply let my hair fall in front of my face, and it hides everything.
My best guy friend, Jarod Johnson, says he likes my hair. He says it makes me unique and no one else has hair as shiny and soft as mine. He told me when we met that my hair was the kind that made you want to reach out and pet it. I think that makes me sound like some kind of a dog, but I know that Jarod thinks he’s paying me a compliment, so I don’t complain. Of course, Jarod really just likes to disagree with Kendra, so maybe he’s simply trying too hard to come up with something nice to say about my freaky hair.
My little sister, Andi, always tells me I’m way too skinny, but I think she’s just trying to be nice. I sneaked a peek at the scale last time she weighed herself, and I’m almost 30 pounds heavier than she is. I don’t even carry the extra pounds right. My hips are too wide and my chest is too big. I look like a Barbie doll with breast implants, minus the tiny waist.
The only exceptional thing about me is my report card. I always get straight A’s, except for that D in gym last year, which totally doesn’t count. Not that I spend all of my time doing homework or anything. Academics just click for me. And besides, Mom and Dad would have a fit if I slipped off the honor roll. You would have thought the world was coming to an end if you’d seen their reaction to my D in gym!
My GPA might win points with parents and teachers, but it doesn’t exactly qualify me for any “Miss Popularity” votes. I’m just not the kind of girl that an Adonis like Shane Crawford would kiss.
