Brace-faced with a Five Head

I looked back down at my half-eaten chicken patty sandwich. Nothing was on it. I could barely open my mouth because I tripled my rubberbands in my braces. I had hoped to shorten the tedious process of tooth correction only to employ migraines at the tender age of 13.


 I wasn't even hungry any more. Placing the sandwich back down, I continued my conversation with my friends about the new Gameboy Advanced that came out. I had a Spongebob game. The boy to my right was obsessing about the Platinum Pokemon game. Pokemon was so the fifth grade. I rolled my eyes and pushed my oversized glassed up my large nose. 


Then it happened. HE walked by. I smelled the air as he passed. This was, after all, the first boy that didn't have cooties. His hair was long, brown, perfectly swooped to the left. As I was watching this 13-yr-old supposed "greek god," he flipped his hair as he walked. In mid hair-flip he turned and looked at me; or at least I hoped he'd aspired to do so. (If I'm being honest, he was looking well beyond my large forehead.) Time stopped.


I smiled. Mouth, full of metal, I smiled. He looked at me, smiled back, then walked away. Although it was a courtesy smile, it was a smile. I felt validated. In my bright, purple, butterfly shirt (a hand-me down from someone younger than me) I felt justified.


I was brought back to reality when my best friend had said my name, at least 14 times, "Justine. You have half-masticated chicken meat all in your braces."


My life was over.


And so the awkwardness began. In the words of my friend, Emmilie Buchanan, "I will make 17 cats really happy someday."