There she was, heading my way. Walking my direction with her perfect steps in perfect rhythem with
the last. Man, I hate pretty people.
She practiced her Miss America wave at the lunch table to everyone who passed by and I think she
might have been on call for a Crest commercial just incase one of the models chipped a tooth ot has a cavity as much as she
smiled.
She sat in the back of me in one of my classes. Everytime she passed her paper foward, I always looked
for her to spell something wrong. Something really simple too. Like "again" or "pizza". But her spelling was flawless, just
like her, and somewhere between wishing gum would explode in her hair and praying for a high heel to give out on
a flight of stairs, I think I turned bitter.
She ruined my day without me seeing her. The thought of her walking by with her in her Barbie shoes
and skirt width restricted steps made my skin hot from my boiling blood.
As she passed me, I smiled slightly to be polite. I felt obligated after thinking all the horrible
things about her. She returned the smile, only about 50 times wider than mine. She opened her mouth to form a word, but as
if she could read my mind, she shook her head, and transformed it back into a smile. I guess this is the moment where I tell
you I realized I never had a real reason to despise her so much. That my hate for her had rooted from no more than perhaps
my own envy or jealously. Well, I suppose that much is true...but don't expect me to say I feel bad for it. Because as sinister
and twisted as it may sound, it felt good to hate someone for nothing.
