Chapter One, Part Two: Scars Are Beautiful
Sophia Crawford

After my shower, I walked over to my full-length mirror. “You’re going to be fine.” I tell myself in the mirror, faking a smile. “You’re going to be just fine.” I watched my lips move and I heard the words leaving my mouth, but even my own words sounded so foreign to my own ears.

I repeat the same words over and over again until I almost believed them and picked the brush up from my desk. I start to brush through the mess that was called my hair until I was satisfied with it. I get dressed into a denim jacket over a plain tee-shirt, a pair of baggy jeans and a pair of my favourite slip-on sneakers.

My brown hair flails against my back and I let some waves fall to my face to cover the scar I have on my cheek. “I can do this.” I whisper, smiling at myself in the mirror. The smile disappears. “I can’t do this.” I shake my head slowly.

I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

Why did I agree to go to a new school? I can’t face the new students who would do nothing but laugh behind their hands and whisper about how I look like to their friends.

I don’t want to be the talk of the town, but with this scar, that would be inevitable. They want something to gossip about, and this is it.

I close my eyes tightly, and start to chant: “In and out.” I breathe out. “In and out.” I breathe in. “In and out, Sophia. You can do this.” I exhale sharply. I repeat the same process until the knots in my stomach untied themselves and until the nausea in my stomach has settled.

I leave my room with my school bag slung over my shoulder and a fake smile glued onto my face. I cannot let the negative thoughts fill my mind.

I need to do this to make my grandmother proud. She is, after all, the only person in the entire world who loves me and she believes in me, too.

I have to do this for her, to make her proud, to show her that I can do this.

I find her in the kitchen drinking a cup of lukewarm coffee. Mine was pushed toward my plate of scrambled eggs, greasy bacon and two slices of toast, resting on the acrylic kitchen counter just waiting for me to dig into it.

I throw my schoolbag down onto the ground and sit down on one of the chairs.

The backrest of the chair was wobbly and I fight a smile remembering that I was the one who broke the chair in the first place when I leaned back on it. The backrest broke and my father had to repair the chair. My mother wasn’t too happy with me. She grounded me for a week that summer and she made me sit in the living room alone while the three of them ate in the kitchen.

And now it was only the two of us.

My grandfather passed away when I was born, so my grandmother was alone for most of her life. My parents rarely came to visit her before but now that I’m here, they don’t visit at all and I’m somewhat grateful for that. I never liked to be in my mother’s company anyways because she always found a way to make everything about herself.

And I mean absolutely everything.

Whenever I did something wrong, like get bad grades, my mother always said the same thing: “I did not raise you like this, Sophia.” And one day when I was ten, I wanted to show her how well I did in a test, but she just said that I shouldn’t bother her with things like that, and in the same breath she said: “Good grades should be expected. Not hoped for.” And then, of course, her signature speech, “I did not raise you like this, Sophia.” Now that I think of it, she didn’t even spare me a glance in the mirror that day.

I haven’t shown or told her about any of my accomplishments or literally anything else since because she always managed to point out the flaws of them instead of appreciating it. It’s like giving her a birthday card and she sends it back after circling every spelling and grammatical error on it.

Yes, my mother really was like that. I’m not joking.

My grandmother looks at me as I spear a piece of bacon with my fork. I chew the bacon slowly and when I was finished chewing, I shoot her a hopeful glance. “Do I really have to go to school? I can stay at home and get home-schooled. You’d have company if I stayed at home instead.”

“I don’t think so.” She says, blowing non-existent steam away from her cup. “It’s your last few months of school, Sophia. You can’t throw that away just because you’re afraid.” And then she says the words my mother failed to say. “You’re an intelligent young woman who doesn’t cower away from a fight. You’re a Crawford,” she smiles proudly, “and us Crawfords don’t give up very easily. And besides, you’ll be just fine. I can promise you that.”

I nod slowly, in defeat, but still smile at her.

I loved her for always being so positive, even on the days when all I wanted to do was give up and cower away from everyone and everything. There is no doubt that my grandmother is my biggest supporter and that gave me more reason to make her proud, even if that’s the last thing I will ever do.

I could tell that she felt bad for making me go to a new school with the way she was smiling sadly at me, but she was also right. It’s my last few months of school and I can’t always scurry away from people just because of my scar. I need to go out and live my life without being scared all the time.

 “Okay,” I smile, releasing a soft sigh, “I will make you proud, Grandma.”

“You already make me proud, Sophia.” She says, squeezing my hand across the kitchen island. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

I smile at her again and finish my plate of breakfast and lukewarm cup of coffee just in time before the two of us had to leave for school.

I grab my bag up from the floor and follow my grandmother to her car—an old 1980 red Datsun, and as we got into the car, I started to breathe in and out slowly. “In and out, Sophia.”

• • •

“We’re here.” My grandmother announces when she drove into my new school’s parking lot.

My eyes scan over the parking lot to find an empty parking space for her to park in for the time being, but I noticed a lot of eyes staring directly at me. I couldn’t help but sink down into the seat, away from the peering eyes.

I wish the earth could swallow me up already.

“They will stare,” my grandmother says when she parks the car, “but not because of that scar across your cheek, but because of how beautiful you are, and how brave you are.”

I swallow hard and force a smile her way. “I doubt that, Grandma. They’re going to stare at me because of the scar I have across my cheek. And if they knew the story behind this scar, they’ll run away from me. They’ll avoid me.”

“Oh hush,” she scolds, “if they want to run, let them run then. They don’t deserve you. You will find yourself some trustworthy friends and you’ll be happy here. They’re going to stare because you’re new and in a week’s time, the gossip and the staring would be old news. Just you wait.”

I inhale deeply and exhale the breath sharply.

I look over at a group of girls standing near a brand new convertible while they were doing their make-up. One girl had her hand in the air directly in front of her, staring at a hand-sized mirror as she sealed her lips with deep red lipstick.

“I adore you, Grandma.” I tell her, leaning over the seat to place a kiss against her cheek. “Have a lovely day and don’t miss me too much.” I tell her, grabbing my schoolbag from the backseat.

When I climb out of the car, I could already hear their whispers and as I made my way towards the school building. I could hear their laughter and gossip.

“The new girl has one ugly scar.”

“How does she live with that scar? I don’t think that can be covered with make-up.”

“I feel bad for her.” Some girl says. I don’t dare turn her way. “Everybody’s going to talk about her and the scar across her cheek.”

And it didn’t take very long for me to feel self-conscious all over again, thanks to the stares and the whispers. The girl who whispered ‘I feel bad for her’ actually looked like she felt bad for me. The others, though, didn’t.

I shield most of my face with my loose hair. I barely could see in front of me. My vision was obstructed and right when I opened the school’s metal door, I walk face-first into someone who wanted to exit the building.

The first thing I noticed when I composed myself, was the guy’s hair. It was completely dishevelled, like he slept through the entire night and woke up without brushing his hair. His hair was blond, too.

“Watch where you’re going.” He hisses.

“You should watch where you’re going!” I hiss back at him, straightening my bag’s strap on my shoulder. “You should actually wait until someone enters the building before you decide to storm through the doors.”

His blue eyes were filled with anger and when he blinked, his lashes kissed his cheeks. He was biting the inside of his cheek and shaking his head at me.

“Whatever…” His gaze then rakes over my face. “…Scarface.”

He steps past me to leave the building in a hurry.

His words made me stop breathing for a second.

He saw my scar. And the students who were standing in the hall near their lockers were staring at me. They, no doubt, heard the entire argument. And they, no doubt, notice the scar too now that he pointed it out. Oh no. The thought of everyone calling me ‘Scarface’ like he did moments ago made me feel sick to the stomach. It made me want to leave the building, but I didn’t.

I swallowed down the tears that threatened to fall and breathed deeply. “In and out, Sophia.” I whisper, making my way to the office where I’ll grab my things.

I will not let some guy with dishevelled blond hair make me cower.

I knock on the office’s glass doors and see a woman calling me inside. She was about in her thirties. Her hair is blonde, and she had a very kind smile.

I saunter over to the front desk and plaster on a fake smile. “Hi, I’m Sophia—”

“Sophia Crawford. Yes,” she smiles, “I know exactly who you are. You’re Jennifer Crawford’s granddaughter. She told me all about you!”

“She did?”

“We’re good friends. Your grandmother and I.” She says, taking out a stack of papers from behind the desk before handing it all to me. “You’re as beautiful as she says.”

I feel a blush coating my cheeks. “Thank you.”

I hug the stack of papers to my chest.

“You’re welcome.” She says. “Your subject list is in between those papers there. You’ll also find a map of the school grounds so you don’t get lost. If you don’t have anywhere else to go on your free periods, you can sit here in the office if you’d like. And if you don’t manage to find your way around here, my nephew would be more than happy to show you around.”

I smile thankfully at her. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine.” I tell her.

“Have fun.” She smiles, waving at me.

I leave the office, search for my subject list between the stacks of papers, and look for my first class of today.

I have Math with Mr Yuri and he was located on the third floor.

Great. I don’t even know where the second floor is, never mind the third.

I walk down the hall with my face covered like before and ignore the student’s gossip and stares as I pass them all to find Mr Yuri’s classroom.

The students making fun of me behind their hands reminded me of my mother. If you didn’t wear perfect clothes or have a face full of make-up to cover the things that make you well you—you will be frowned upon. But I wasn’t hated for not wearing make-up or wearing baggy clothes, I was hated for having a scar across my cheek and I didn’t even bother covering it up. I was a freak to them, and that’s why they were whispering behind my back.

I inhale deeply and finally spot a set of stairs with the number ‘2’ painted on the wall and release a relieved breath.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be so difficult to find the third floor after all.

When I finally managed to find Mr Yuri’s class, I was out of breath and found myself panting when I entered his class. I didn’t expect him to be in his class yet, but I took a chance and I was relieved he was already here. I didn’t want to linger in the hallways where everyone had a great view of my scar.

Mr Yuri notices me and flashes me a warm smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” I greet back, thankful that he wasn’t chasing me away for being early. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m a little early. I was hoping to find a seat before all the good ones get taken.”

“I don’t mind it at all.” He says, perching his glasses up his nose. “You can choose whatever seat you want.”

I nod and make my way to the front row and choose the seat directly in the middle. If I was sitting in the front of the classroom, no one had a great view, except for the ones sitting beside me, of my scar.

Maybe my grandmother was right… Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.