Page 3 of Perfect

I’m also kind, funny, fairly intelligent, and most importantly,I'm nice. What’snotto like? Boys usually buzz around me like bees to honey. I was considered to be one of the hottest girls in school. Even Mr. McShane, one of the younger PE teachers watched me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Shaking off the indulgent thoughts, I pursed my lips, annoyed that I was now overthinking the subject. No matter how you slice it, Connor Barratt had blatantly decided that he had a problem with mebeforewe’d even met, and in my opinion, there wasnothingworse than judgy people.

Connor had been such a sarcastic dick after our initial introduction, making me feel like a silly little girl attempting to speak to her first crush. He had compared me to a doll, muttering something about Barbie and how being pretty does not give you the right to look down your nose at others. Like Ievertreated people like that. Unless theyaskedfor it of course.

I could be a mean girl and put people down if the situation called for it. My attempt at being a bitch never lasted long though and Ialwaysfelt bad afterwards; I had a conscience the size of Surrey. Some of the girls at school thought me a spoilt brat and yes, I was a little spoiled but I wasn’t a brat. I was a nice girl.

Connor clearly hadn’t thought so. I remember how he had looked me up and down, contempt blazing in his eyes and his cold, heatless chuckle like it was yesterday.

“I suggest you piss off, find Daddy, and stop eye-fucking me across the room. You’re punching way above your weight with me, sunshine,” he’d said before turning his broad back on me and signalling the girl behind the bar.

How do you recover from something like that? No amount of flirting would work. I would probably have just ended up embarrassing myself further.

When I told my friends, Lisa thought it was hilarious that there was,at last, one boy out there around my age who didn’t fancy me.

'Guess what, guys? H's looks are already fading'. She had texted on our WhatsApp group. She posted that next to a picture of me where I did not look my best; one of those unfiltered shots taken when you're not ready.Notthat I needed filters, of course. It had been an image of me after doing sports, something I sucked at. PE was my worst subject and I had dropped it as soon as I was allowed.

Lisa could be such a jealous bitch, but then again, so were most girls I met.

I blinked my way back to the present as the carriage shook and knocked my bottle of water over. Drat! I shot out a hand to catch the bottle a little too late as I felt the splash of dampness on my jeans. I was probably the clumsiest person on the planet. See, I accepted the fact that I had faults too.

The fussy woman in the seat next to me tutted. I murmured an apology and frantically dabbed the table with a spare napkin. After soaking up the carnage, Isettled back into my seat, securing the cap back on the bottle, ensuring no further mishaps.

I’d already soured my relationship with the woman in aisle seat 13B after flicking a piece of ham from my sandwich at her only minutes after boarding. She had now gone back to reading her boring-looking book. The cover looked like it was one of those books people read to battle insomnia. Mrs. Lang spoke about them in English Literature all the time.

My phone pinged, yet another text from Lisa banging on about our school nemesis, Samantha, and how she’d thrown up in Matthew Mason’s lap at last night’s party.

I rolled my eyes. I'd had enough of high school. I just wished I didn’t have another year of exams to get through.

Samantha Jones was Primrose High’s very own Regina George and had made my last few months pretty shitty. Her boyfriend’s wandering eye had been the catalyst for that drama.

I shuffled back into my seat, staring again at my partially distorted reflection through the window of the train.

People seemed to view me as some type of genetic lottery winner but on the inside, I was just the same as any other high school girl; confused, flailing, and terrified about what to do with the rest of their life.

‘Just because you’re beautiful, don’t think it will do you any favours in this world’, my mother had once lectured, her own world somewhere at the bottom of the vodka bottle she’d thrashed around to embellish her point. ‘It’s more likely to cause you problems.’ Mum hadn’t matured well with age and the drinking had only added to her insecurities.

I now realise that she was right and that her words were not just the rantings of a woman whose husband left her for a younger model. Being what society deemed ‘beautiful’ doesn’t give you an easy ride.Nothingdoes, life is hard no matter what. There is no perfect.

The carriage swayed again and I tried to recover from that seasick feeling. The woman next to me would probably go ballistic if I added the contents of my stomach to the stain I’d caused on her white leggings. I blamed her choice ofoutfit, who wears white leggings these days? Everyone knows white clothing encourages stains.

Pulling my gaze away from the window, I thumbed my reply to Lisa’s text about Samantha. I didn’t give a shit to be perfectly honest. I’d left all that nonsense behind me for now, but my friends still stalked the popular girls on Facebook and they enjoyed feeding me the titbits.

Nope, this was an adventure for me. I was moving on to new pastures, having no idea what summer on a farm would be like. A hundred possibilities bloomed before my eyes. OK, I knew I’d havesomechallenges to deal with; one boy-shaped andannoyinglygood-looking, for starters. But I’d manage. I was an adaptable girl (in most situations).

I had seen pictures of Daddy’s huge farmhouse and it looked sweet. He’d reassured me that it was dry, clean, and warm; I didn’t do drafts. Daddy also promised me there were notthatmany creepy crawlies. Ihatedspiders and would never understand why they existed. I remember he’d said Connor would save me from stuff like that if I needed it. Yeah right. He’d probably catch one and put it in my hair as a juvenile prank.

I hoped I had a bathroom to myself like at home, but I would manage if that were not the case. The thought of sharing one with a smelly boy was not something I relished.

My father had also sent me pictures of the land, it was a beautiful part of the country and I intended to explore as much of it as possible, if the weather allowed that of course. I certainly wasn’t one for tramping through mud and I hated the rain for obvious reasons.

It was all textbook stuff, I imagined that compared to most girls my age, I was fairly low-maintenance.

The speaker bled into the carriage, and a muffled voice announced Pickering as the next station. I gathered up my rubbish and stuffed it into my rucksack. I was beyond grateful to be leaving my seat.

13B placed her book on the table and grunted before standing to allow me to pass. I thanked her, apologising again for the sandwich fail and she shot me one of those forced smiles.

As I approached the luggage rack, struggling to remove my case, a tall, balding man helped me and I thanked him, savouring the gentleman-like behaviour.

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