Being attractive is demanding

Being attractive is demanding.

I used to hate school. I didn’t get very good grades, and I didn’t have many friends. My family didn’t have a lot of money, so I couldn’t afford the kinds of clothes the other girls wore, or birthday parties at the skating rink, or a membership to the pool. My mom used to dress me in horrible thrift store outfits—plaid skirts, frumpy blouses, stretch pants with stirrups, you get the picture. I figured that was the reason people didn’t seem to like me. If I could just get rich, and buy the right clothes and go to the right places, I’d be popular—and boys would flock to me.

It seemed really unfair that I couldn’t have these things, so I became bitter. I resented my parents for not having money, and as a result, I was nasty to them. I started making fun of other kids who wore thrift school clothes. Kids whose families had even less money than mine. I thought that would make me feel better, but it really didn’t.

Then this girl named Kelsey, who let me hang out with her sometimes, offered me some of her hand-me-down clothes. They were really nice—lots of popular brands, and they fit me perfectly. I would have rather had my own new clothes, but I thought wearing Kelsey’s stuff would at least help me look like less of a loser.

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