Page 3 of If You Could Only Believe
We look forward to everyone’s attendance and we look forward to impressing the vision of a familial work environment.
Thank You!
Marcy Lorrel
Buchanan Industries Human Resources Manager
Amandatorycompany party?
Okay, maybe in some aspects of the world, it was a good idea, or even a nice gesture to throw a party to introduce all of us to the new heads of Buchanan Industries. Some people might even think it was awesome for management to dish out that kind of money just on the desire to meet all their employees. Hell, if I was anyone else, I might even agree.
But I wasn’t anyone else.
I was Sophia Martella-weird, plain, fat, loner girl.
I mean, it wasn’t my legal name or anything, but you get the idea.
I wasn’t self-loathing, either. I was just stating facts.
I had brown hair, that even with the length reaching to the middle of my back, it still possessed an unruly curl to it. I had brows that matched the color of my hair but didn’t match each other. One brow was a nice curved, fluid arch, while the other one was shaped with a little bit of a more severe pointed arch.
It was retarded. How is someone’s eyebrows not going to match?
My eyes were brown. Not a golden honey hue. Not a dark melted chocolate reminder. Not a tan, coffee, russet or any of those other beautiful shades of brown. They were just brown. I did have long lashes though, so that was something.
The nose that sat on my face was unremarkable, but it got the job done. I could breathe, therefore sustaining life. My cheeks were full, but that was due to my body being nowhere near a size six. My mouth was a pale pink, and both lips were soft and full.
I was a whopping 5’2” and a size 12. I’ll give you time to do the math. But in case math isn’t your strong suit, I weighed 160 pounds when I should, ideally, weight 115 to 120, and the weight didn’t discriminate, either. It made itself a home in my boobs, stomach, hips, ass and thighs. My excess loved meeverywhere.
And if it wasn’t enough to be weird, plain and overweight, I was also socially impossible. I had no friends, and I didn’t know how to make them. I spoke my mind with no filter to which my childhood therapist claimed it was just a simple side effect of my genius level I.Q; another thing that casts me further into weirdom.
The only interaction I had with other people was work related or when I was forced to endure a lunch or dinner with my family. And now I was expected to go to a freakin’party?
With people.
With lots of people (goddamn mandatory clause).
And all for what? To shake hands with four men who I will never see or talk to again? I mean, to be fair, I might pass them in the lobby one day in the future or get caught in an elevator group with one of them, but aside that, no Buchanan would need to speak to me or evenwantto. They were so high up the ladder of success, there would never be a need for them to even bearoundme.
My eyes latched onto the paragraph that instructed us to contact HR if we couldn’t make it, and for a few minutes or so, I was tempted to try to scam my way out of going. But I was such a horrible liar, I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off.
Hell, the truth of the matter was, I didn’t lie, period. Another unfortunate side effect of my intellect according to Dr. Quack. Well, at least to me, he had sounded like a quack. I’m sure his credentials were very impressive to someone; just not me.
Now, when I say I don’t lie, it’s not to say I’ve never partaken in the occasional little white lie, I’ve just never lied to lie or fabricated stories or falsehoods to prevent awkwardness. I’ve learned to say as little as possible or say nothing at all when someone asked me for my direct opinion on something.
I inwardly cringed at the idea of one of the Buchanans approaching me at the party and asking me if I was having a good time. How do you tell your boss you’d rather poke hot needles in your eyes than attend a work function that was designed to create a more relaxed, happy and family-like atmosphere?
My inability to bullshit was the very reason family luncheons and dinners were torturous. My mother and sister were everything I wasn’t. They were perfectly well-mannered, perfectly put together, perfectly educated, perfectly everything, and they never missed the opportunity to let me know how vastly different I was from them. And my father…well, like most men, he wisely stayed out of the on-goings between the women in his family.
I let out a deep breath and tried to resign myself to my Friday night fate. Jesus, what did a person even wear to something like that? Would it be casual, office attire, formal? And Lord knows I didn’t know a thing about makeup. I wore tinted lip balm, but that was about the extent of it.
This was going to suck.
And the irony of it all? I was a goddamn genius with an I.Q. of 160+ and I couldn’t find a way to get out of a company party. I mean, really, smarts are worthless if you couldn’t tie your own goddamn shoes.
Or your dancing shoes, as is with this case.
