The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over our surroundings. Zara, May, Issa, and I were deeply engrossed in our conversation as we strolled through the school courtyard. It was just another typical day of sharing stories and secrets, trying to piece together the puzzle of our teenage lives.
In the distance, we spotted Kai, Zane, and a few of their friends engrossed in their own conversation. I couldn't help but notice Kai stealing a fleeting glance at Zara, his gaze lingering just a moment longer before he quickly looked away. It wasn't the first time I had seen it happen, but this time, it struck me differently. It was a fleeting moment, easy to miss, but it caught my attention.
"Why does he look at you like that?"
"Who?" Zara asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"Kai," I clarified.
"What do you mean? How does he look at me?"
"Differently," I cryptically responded.
"What does that even mean?"
"You don't see it?" Issa chimed in, supporting my observation.
"No, I don't," she admitted, her gaze now fixed on Kai.
"I've noticed it too," May sighed, then continued, "I wish that gaze was directed towards me."
"You guys are freaking me out," Zara admitted, her concern evident. "Is it in a bad way or a good way?"
"It depends on how you view him."
Her eyes lingered on Kai, who was sharing laughter with Zane and their friends. She turned back to us, impatience in her voice. "He's a good friend. Now tell me."
I leaned in and whispered, "You'll probably find out soon. That is, if we are correct."
"You shouldn't have mentioned it if you were not going to tell me," she said, a hint of frustration evident in her voice. Slowly, I moved closer, wrapping my arms around her.
"Oh, chummy, we don't want to give you false information," I reassured her. "Don't worry; I'll confirm it with someone. If it is what I suspect, I'll let know, okay?" She nodded in agreement.
We found a comfortable spot to sit down, continuing our conversation before our attention was drawn to Alek passing by.
"I wonder where Alek has been going of late," I pondered.
"Zane told me he's been staying behind to spend some alone time with Masha," Zara chimed in.
"No, I don't think that's it," I replied. "Last Wednesday, Masha went home before us, but Alek wasn't home by the time we got there, and even an hour later. The same thing happened yesterday and last Saturday."
"What could he be up to?"
"Oh my goodness!" Issa whispered, her voice filled with revelation, "Could he be cheating on Masha?"
"No!" Zara and I simultaneously exclaimed. "He can never do something like that," I said.
"My brother is a gentleman."
"Oh my, it was just a thought; don't crucify me."
We exchanged a knowing glance, silently conveying the message that it was best not to utter such thoughts again.
Our short break continued with us tossing around various possibilities of where Alek could be going or what he was doing. Frustrated by our lack of answers, we hatched a plan to follow him after school.
"That sounds like a great idea," Issa agreed.
"Okay, we'll hide near the gate and follow him from there," May suggested.
"Sounds like a plan."
After our discussion, we returned to our classes, the mystery of Alek's actions still lingering in our minds. The afternoon passed with the usual routine of lessons, and soon it was time for PE. We changed into our sports gear and headed to the field, the day seeming relatively normal.
During a break between PE activities, I excused myself to use the bathroom. I had been feeling a sharp pain in my belly, and I wanted to be sure just in case it was that time of the month.
As I entered the bathroom, an unexpected and sharp pain jolted through my shoulders. I stumbled forward and pushed forcefully into the cold, unforgiving wall. Startled and disoriented, I spun around to see who had attacked me, and to my shock, it was Masha, flanked by her group of friends. The look on her face was a mixture of anger and resentment.
"What's your problem?" I managed to stammer out, still clutching my shoulder where the pain throbbed.
Masha leaned in closer, her eyes locked onto mine and her voice dripping with accusation. "What do you still want from Alek?"
"I don't know what you mean," I stammered, feeling a knot of fear tightening in my stomach.
"Drop the act," Masha insisted, her gaze unwavering. "I see you staring and throwing yourself at my boyfriend any chance you get."
"Masha, there must be a misunderstanding here," I pleaded, my voice quivering. "I know Alek is with you, and I would never do something like that."
"I think she's calling us liars," Bruna, one of Masha's best friends, chimed in with a sneer.
"I am not," I protested, feeling the pressure of the situation mounting. I silently prayed that someone, anyone, would walk through the door and save me from this misery.
"So you do stare at him?" Masha pressed on, her hostility palpable.
"Yes, sometimes."
"Why?"
I was caught in a dilemma, unsure of how to respond. No matter what I said, it seemed it would only anger Masha even more. "I would never get in between your relationship, believe me," I pleaded.
"Oh yes, I know. It's the staring and constant hovering around him that bothers me. You're not a threat," she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain, "Do you know why? Because you're not his type. You're ugly and annoying. You're all the things he hates in a girl. You're like that fly that won't go away. The only thing you have going for you is that you're rich. Why do you think he turned you down? Because that's what goes through his head when he looks at you. You disgust him."
Her words sliced through me like a knife. A brutal assault on my self-esteem. All I could do was look at her. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt smaller with each passing moment. I looked at her, my heart heavy with hurt. I noticed the smug satisfaction in her eyes, knowing she had gotten to me.
She extended her index finger, pushing it against my forehead, each push accompanied by a condescending, "Know. Your. Place."
With that, Masha and her friends left. Their laughter echoed in the corridors, leaving me standing there with tears streaming down my cheeks. I felt utterly humiliated and wounded.
I remained in the bathroom for another thirty agonizing minutes. Masha's cruel words had penetrated deep into my thoughts, leaving me feeling incredibly low. I felt weak and vulnerable. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I struggled to shake off the emotional wounds inflicted by her harsh comments.
As I wallowed in my low spirits, I suddenly heard footsteps approaching. Convinced that Masha and her friends were returning to torment me further, a wave of anxiety washed over me. But to my immense relief, it wasn't them. It was Issa and Zara.
I hastily wiped away my tears, though my unsuccessful attempt at concealing my distress was immediately noticed by Zara. She gently cupped my face in her hands and asked with genuine concern, "What's wrong, chummy?"
I hesitated, not wanting to involve Zara in a confrontation with Masha, knowing she had a fighting spirit hidden beneath her sweet exterior. So, I quickly fabricated a lie: "I think my periods are here; I feel a very sharp pain in my stomach."
Zara's expression turned from concern to worry. "Come, let us take you home," she suggested, gently pulling my arm.
"No, it's okay," I replied, trying to reassure her. "I already called Derrick. He'll pick me up at school today. You guys can go on with our plan; I'll be fine."
Zara persisted, "Are you sure you don't want us to accompany you?"
"It's okay." I managed to give a faint smile to convey that I would be alright, and finally, they reluctantly let me go.
As I exited the bathroom and headed to my classroom to retrieve my bag, I unexpectedly ran into Alek. He greeted me with his usual warm smile, but this time, I couldn't muster a smile in return. It didn't take him long to sense that something was amiss.
"Are you okay, Marina?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Yes," I replied, my gaze fixed on the ground.
"You don't look okay. What's going on?" He probed gently, unsuccessfully tilting his head to meet my eyes.
"Nothing," I replied, trying to dismiss his concern.
"It's okay; you can tell me."
"I'm okay."
Alek wasn't buying it. "Want me to take you to the hospital?"
"No, I'm okay," I said, my voice trembling.
"Then I can take you home."
"I'm okay, Alek, just leave me alone!" I shouted, tears welling up in my eyes. It was the first time I had raised my voice at him, and it seemed to take him by surprise. He stepped back in shock, clearly startled by my outburst. He had never seen me like this, and in that moment, I didn't consider how I might have sounded mean or rude—I just wanted to be alone.
"Okay," he said, his tone still understanding. "But if you need anything, don't hesitate to let me know, okay?"
I didn't respond and simply walked away, my vision blurred by tears, leaving Alek behind, bewildered by my unusual behaviour.
♡♡♡
Many people assume that wealth guarantees a fulfilling life. They assume that possessing the means to purchase the latest shoes, gadgets, and clothing encompasses the entirety of a satisfying life. While this may hold true for some, it has never resonated with me. Perhaps it's because I've always had access to these things and, in doing so, may have inadvertently taken them for granted.
Having the financial capacity to acquire all desires renders life devoid of purpose. I'm not implying that I could purchase a private island, but as a teenager, I had my own version of an island, and I could attain it effortlessly.
I had it all; I had everything I wanted, yet an unshakeable sense of incompleteness lingered within me.
The intangible desires I longed for—love, self-acceptance and inner fulfillment—were beyond the grasp of wealth. Money couldn't purchase the essence of contentment and self-love that I so desperately sought.
If someone were to inquire about the one thing that money couldn't buy but fervently wished it could, I'm positive many would respond with "love." However, for me, that elusive desire was fulfillment. I yearned to experience the profound sense of being enough for I often grappled with feelings of unworthiness and undesirability.
My mother and Zara, without fail, would shower me with compliments about my beauty. They adored my dimples and cherished my dark gums, which they would say added a unique charm to my smile by making my teeth gleam brilliantly. They expressed how beautiful they found my curly hair, particularly when I tied it up into a puff. They found beauty in my eyes, admired my full lips, and adored my small frame. Despite their heartfelt praise, I struggled to believe them, for they saw me through the lenses of love and affection.
I never held a favourable view of my own appearance. Standing at five foot two, I grappled with persistent pimples that only relented when I reached the age of twenty one. Glasses adorned my face, and braces lined my teeth. I was, without a doubt, the quintessential "ugly girl" often typecast in romantic comedies.
I may feel a twinge of embarrassment admitting this, but despite years of reassurance from my mother and Zara, it took just one man and three simple words to finally make me believe that I was not only pretty but truly beautiful and deserving.