This Can’t Be Right.

Not only was I the crème de la crème in terms of studies but also when it came to popularity. I think it comes by default; when you’re sharp, you tend to look more appealing than you actually are. I stand to be corrected.

The thing is, I didn’t see the reason why some of the hottest guys in class would crush on someone like me. I was practically one of them .When they’d go to the barber shop I’d be there with them anyway. Also, my dresses were oversize, heads up; I wore the same pieces of uniform from class 2 to class 7 which tells you how big they were.

This time in class six, the boys in class gathered up during lunch break and seemed very engrossed in some activity. You know there’s always the weak link in every group, right? Fortunately, that was my desk mate, Placido; tall but cowardly. One time I felt sorry for him and told the mathematics teacher to cane me instead of him because I couldn’t take his deafening screams anymore. After the gathering, I asked him what it was about and it only took a bit of persuasion to get him to talk. He told me that each of the boys was writing down his crushes on a piece of paper so that they could determine the mode crush. Guess who was at the top. Me! Ugly me. I laughed it off because I thought it was really dumb. I mean, if I were them I wouldn’t crush on me.

Not very long after, the cutest boy in class, Teddy, wrote me a love letter. God knows I wanted to kill him. I honestly thought he was mocking me. Didn’t speak to him for the rest of the term. I would see him from the periphery of my eye staring at me during class and thought it quite eccentric. I mean, there were cuter girls in class, Cynthia, who stole my crush, Brian, in class five. There was Sydney, Faith, Joanne, Mahoro who was Rwandese, you know how pretty Rwandese girls are. This couldn’t be right. Maybe they were just messing with me.

Things changed in class seven when a certain girl of Hindu origin, God knows I hated that girl, came to join us. Her name was Ashley Kulautepa Brauhauser. Pretty, long hair, sassy. Funny enough, she really wanted to be friends with me, probably because I was bright but that didn’t reduce by an ounce the hatred I had for her. Okay, hate is a strong word, I didn’t like her.

I think class eight should have given me enough assurance. I switched schools and there was this hot guy. His name was Steve. I didn’t know he liked me till his then girlfriend called me aside on time after prep and asked what was happening between me and him because apparently the whole school was talking about how Steve and I were all lovey dovey. Of course I liked Steve, all the girls did. But I didn’t think he liked me back. His girlfriend, Ann, was way prettier than I, long hair, intelligent, she came from a good family. I think that was the first time I felt good about myself, being accused of ‘stealing someone’s boyfriend’, that was a huge flex.

After that I was accused countless times of the same but at least it gave me assurance that I wasn’t as ugly as I thought I was. Should I feel bad for feeling that way? You tell me.

I do hope Teddy, Steve and Placido won’t get to read this article though. Too much personal information out here. Anyway, I will post the letter Steve wrote on my autobook when we were leaving primary school. Not today though.

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