Pretty Girls

People tend to like boxes.

From the beginning of time, we've been social creatures. It was only our nature to judge who deserves our empathy and resources. Oh, this man looks dangerous- stay away. This woman looks ugly, she must not take care of herself.

The funny thing is judgement is never unbiased. People we envy, we hate, we think are unattractive will always be lower and less than to us and subject to our ideals.

Back in elementary, I despised the 'popular kids'. Pretty people, people who had parents that didn't care about grades, people who would dance to trashy songs in the middle of our YMCA. Meanwhile, I was a closeted kid with an ugly hooked nose and tan skin with picked acne scars.

For reference, my parents were both immigrants, coming from India to America in search of the iconic American Dream. They'd built a life for themselves out of sweat and tears, paying for burgers with the cash they had to survive.

Now, with that comes expectations. My mom always made quick remarks of certain qualities. People who never had to work for anything, people who don't try... the same offhand comments that sink into your head when you're a kid.

The group of girls I hated were exactly what I considered a terrible people at the time. While I sat in the corner by myself in the cafeteria, sketching quietly, the hot white girls would gossip with their perfect white teeth and flawless skin.

Even before I moved, there was the "Clara" girls back in Kentucky. They didn't need stupid braces and rubber bands to lock frizzy hair in place. Every phase of my life had the same group of girls.

I'd sit in my car, complaining about these young girls having sex and vaping in middle school, all while my mom agreed on how foolish these kids are nowadays. It was the way I coped. If I was better than them, if I was smarter and more mature, then maybe my envy could turn into ego.

It became an obsession. My friends would whisper about the next popular girl who got laid, we'd laugh like we were the high council of some kind. Our judgement alone was right, our morals were right, because if they weren't- was else was there?

Then my best friend ghosted me. It sounds so simple to just get over it, doesn't it? And yet.

At lunch, I'd look at her with disdain. I hated her. I grouped her with the same people we laughed about, and suddenly she was just as foreign and spiteful.

"Why would she just- ghost me?" I'd ask over the phone with my other, new, best friend Inej. "I don't even know what I fucking did wrong, for Christ's sake."

"Can't say I know. She's a sweet person, there has to be a reason." Inej would reply. Of course, she'd say that- Inej was also her new best friend. Frustration ate at me as I made a lame excuse to end the call.

That night I sat in my bed, staring at the celling. The next 7 months, I did the same thing. I'd wanted to leave the friend group I was in beforehand, for various reasons that all related about how we called other people. How we laughed at other people.

As a kid, I'd fix friendship problems for free. I even got a plushie for it once, the title of 'friendship solver' stroking my ego immensely. Half these problems were easy misunderstandings...as simple as the kids were at the age of 7.

Then there were problems that ran deeper. A friend who spread a rumor, a friend who trash talked behind the other's back, a friend who stole the other's friends. Things I spent my time preaching against.

My days in the school's playground were spent fixing the pieces of what two people used to have.

"So, what happened?" I'd question, looking at my 'client' expectantly. I'd gained a reputation, more people asking for help by the week. The next person who came up to me was a short, bubbly girl named Emma. She fiddled with her hands, sighing.

"My friend Frankie joined the... popular girls. She won't even talk to me." I'd nod, as if I was an expert. The girl continued. "Am I.. just not cool anymore or something? I just don't know what to do." Then, I'd spend recess trying to find a solution, thinking it over and-

I'd never fix the problem. It was one of a few clients of mine I couldn't help reconnect.

History repeats itself, right? My ex-best friend started talking to the 'preppy' girls, never confronting my questions of why. Now popular girls are not just stupid and prissy, but even more of terrible.

Fastforward to the nearing end of middle school. My mom and I were arguing yet again, my patience wearing thin. I was tired and prissy from school, crossing my arms with a blank expression.

"Do you even know how you affect other people?" She muttered, looking at me with an expression that oddly enough, ate at me.

I brushed her off as usual, both of us dropping the subject.

That night I stayed in bed, looking at the window. The city lights were as bright as ever, the chill in the room forcing a shiver up my spine. Her words went around my head like a halo as my ego knocked every argument that she made down.

I texted Inej again. "Yo, did she tell you why yet?" Every conversation for the past seven months had been about the same thing, after all.

"Yeah." Inej texted back simply.

"You gotta give me more than that, come on." I typed quickly, my frustration growing.

"She just didn't want to be friends with you anymore. She said you'd always make her feel bad, always compare grades and stuff."

My stomach dropped. What? That didn't make sense, of course it didn't, because I was the victim here. Not her.

But how many times had we insulted each other? Called each other stupid for not getting a perfect 100? Piss one another off for fun? How many times had I?

"Oh. Thanks."

I put my phone down, blinking. My phone ringed softly, but the sound was dead silent compared to my mind. How many times had I insulted someone behind their back? How many group chats were filled with messages of people we judged? How many people did I call weird and ditch?

Suddenly, now when I thought of 'popular girls' ....my face came up. I felt sick, my hands gripping my arms. That doesn't make sense, it doesn't make sense- right?

The excuses I've made were now theirs too. All my actions were theirs, all my justifications and words and- god, who was I to judge? Who even was I? Who were they?

Did I even know these people well enough to say anything at all?

I was kid, those girls were kids, my ex best friend was a kid, and they were all people. Complex, living people.

I didn't get much sleep that night. By the time the sun rose, my jaw was set, my eyes tired and weary. I took the same shower I always did, my mind strangely quiet.

I picked out some clothes, stuffed my school bag and sat in the car. My mom started the car, driving me to school as we hummed to some songs. My school came into view, I quickly gave a 'love you' and walked out of the car.

Lunch rolled around. I sat at the same table. I looked at my food, taking the courage to glance at the 'popular girl' table. I was prepared for a wave of disdain and back handed insults, but there was a single thought there in its place.

They look nice.

There wasn't sarcasm or hatred in my head, but simple and even kind words. The disdain was still there, it'd always be, but it stayed locked away in my mind.

I looked at my ex-best friend across the table, who was grinning with another girl. My thoughts were silent- clear. I looked down at my food, smiling lightly.

It was if all the boxes I'd organized in my mental shelves were emptied, all those names that filled them now free of my judgement.

It was freeing. I could breathe easy, move without a weight.

And God knows I'd never been happier.