Page 77 of Reaching Avery
“Your style is an art too,” she said, examining my face. “Do you mind if I take a photo of you?”
Her statement threw me off, and I stared at her dumbfounded. All the years of bullying made it hard for me to believe there wasn’t a malicious trick she was about to pull. Like she’d print out the photo and make anti-Avery flyers or something. I didn’t know.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you don’t conform to social norms,” she answered, and her voice lacked any hints of disgust. If anything, she seemed intrigued by me. “I admire that. I’ve grown up in a Christian household, and while I love my God and my family, there are things I wish I could do. Wear makeup, paint my nails, and even put highlights in my hair. My family won’t allow any of that. Then, I see you, and you’re so unapologetic about yourself. Maybe the photo will act as a reminder for me to eventually be unapologetic too.”
I smiled, not used to those kinds of compliments, especially from strangers.
“Um, then sure,” I answered, trying to battle my nerves and self-consciousness.
“Yay! Thank you.” Jennifer returned my smile. She got out her phone and clicked the camera icon.
“Should I, like, smile? Or do a thumb’s up?”
She giggled. “Just act natural. Maybe face that way and give me just your side profile.”
I did as she said, facing our wall of trees and hills and trying to calm my frantic heartbeat.
“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she said, looking at her screen. “Wanna see?”
I nodded and leaned over.
She had used a fancy filter on it that gave it that professional photography glow. The background was blurred, and I was the only thing in focus. The expression on my face was kind of sad, but from that angle, she’d caught the shadow from my lashes, and the way the light hit my blue eyes made them appear gray.
“I’ve never seen myself like that,” I said.
“We hardly ever see ourselves the way others do,” she said, putting her phone back in her purse. Looking at the backdrop, she said, “I think it needs more blue here.”
Appearances truly meant nothing. Jennifer seemed one way, but she craved to be different. Free. She looked at me and saw someone to admire; someone who freely expressed themselves.
What she didn’t see was the screwed up part of me that hid beneath it all.
Maybe we were all struggling in some way to accept our true selves; whether we be religious kids, popular athletes, or outcasts. And for some people, maybe that struggle never ended. Not until they found someone who understood them and accepted the parts they thought were imperfect.
We just needed someone to see our imperfections and love them anyway.
***
“Hey, you,” Maverick said as he jumped off the stage and neared me. “Ready to go?”
I’d been sitting in the audience in one of the super comfy chairs, waiting for him to finish rehearsal, and I stood up. His hair was messy from the wig he’d put on earlier, and I pressed my mouth into a line to keep from laughing.
“Yeah,” I answered, still fighting a grin. One strand of his hair was sticking straight up.
He narrowed his eyes. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, Alfalfa,” I answered with a straight face before grabbing his arm and leading him down the aisle. “Let’s go.”
He chuckled from behind me. “Does that make you Spanky?”
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. No point in telling him I’d never actually watched the movie; I’d only heard the reference from other people and seen the picture of the kid with the sticking up hair.
Once we were outside, I released his arm and shivered at the sudden chill attacking my body. I was wearing a jacket, but it was colder than I expected.
“Did you have a good time backstage?” he asked, walking closer to me. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and patted it back down in place.
“I did,” I said, resisting the urge to put my arm around his waist. His warmth would certainly drive away some of the chill, but I was too shy to initiate it. We’d never said if we were dating now or not, and I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself if he’d changed his mind. “I heard you sing. You’re really good, Mav.”
