“Hand me the remote,Piggy.”
Lust-filled eyesandbetter nicknames. That’s what I want.
I mean, true, I do wear pigtails too much, but it’s humid in Florida and I got crazy curly hair… and I am a little thick. Well, I do sort of squeal, too.
Still, Piggy isnota sexy nickname.
Then, another woman walks through the patio door, and all the guys turn their heads.
Dang it! I can’t take it anymore. I jump to my feet and fly to the bathroom.
Inside, I rifle through the vanity. I take out Mom’s old foundation, a nearly dried bottle of mascara, and red lipstick.
I apply it like I know what I am doing.
Oh, no.
My reflection... I really do look like a pig.
My face is too bright because the foundation doesn’t match, the mascara somehow made my eyes appear smaller, and my red lips are too bright. I look like a child that stole her mom’s make-up.
Worst of all?
My frizzy blonde hair bunched in two pom-poms.
I wet the buns and try to get the stray curls to spiral nicer.
Fail.
Ugh!
I’m getting upset.Don’t panic. I just hate my hair!
Frustrated, I yank out the hair ties. I grab a comb and brush the knotty tresses —hard— not even caring if they rip out at the roots.
When I’m done going feral on my curly hair, I frown. I look worse. No spirals. Just kinky, frizzy hair.
Gosh! I’m gonna die without so much as a first kiss.
Bang, bang, bang!
My neck snaps toward the bathroom door.
“Hurry up, Piggy! Put your tampon in faster. I gotta piss.”
Ihatemy brother. Why does Brax have to publicly humiliate me to make his friends laugh? Worse? Grayson is here now.
“One second,” I say.
Frantically, I tie up my hair in one ugly bun. Then, I rinse my face, desperate to strip my failed attempt to look pretty from my pores.
Bang, bang, bang!
“Wait just a freaking minute!” I hiss.
Brax yells to the others, “Uh oh! Piggy is about to squeal!”
Embarrassing.
