By: Sonal Punj
Edited by: Raghvi Sethi
I had planned my outfit for the first day of sophomore year weeks in advance. The night before the first day, a cotton blue blouse and a soft pair of sweatpants were unraveled across my bedspread, ironed out, and laid perfectly flat on the comforter.
By 9:30 pm, I was already getting ready for bed. The first day of school was only ten hours away. After almost eighteen months, I was finally entering an actual school building.
I looked in the mirror; bespeckled by drops of water and clouded by the residue of Windex. Toothpaste dribbled down my chin. With my free hand, I gave my hair a little twirl, watching the strands twist into a curl for a fleeting moment in satisfaction. Flyaways frizzled the edges of my hair, but compared to most days, it was relatively tame.
By the time I was done, my face cleaned off, I looked into the mirror once again, hard. My hair — thick, black, and textured — fell in waves around my face. My forehead had a few pimples, but nothing that my nearsighted eyes couldn’t block out. My eyes were darkened with bags; courtesy of my lack of sleep the night before, though the only thing I noticed was the way the light was reflecting off of my moisturized skin.
It felt clean; natural. I gave myself a quick glance over once again. I was satisfied.
It was a rainy day the next morning. My hair formed a frizz halo as I walked around the school, lost. The walls were narrow — filled with people talking, reconnecting. I looked around, balancing my backpack on one shoulder in the library, where everyone herded for lunch, sitting in the corner, obscured by a group of girls.
Their hair was straight, their skin flawless, even in the harsh school lighting. I looked in the school bathroom mirror later. The gleam from the night before was gone.
A girl walked out of the stall and stood adjacent to me.
Whatever pride that I had in my looks had dissipated that day.
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