She could feel her heart start to race as she stared into the mirror’s reflection. Vanessa knew that what she had done was bad, but she didn’t realise just how bad. She twirls the now pink locks of hair around her fingers, as if trying to convince herself that they looked ok. They definitely did not look ok. She slams her hand against the counter in anger, before reaching for the nearby scissors. They start to saw through the ends of the neon hair, with inches of it falling to the ground. Her hair starts to look like a mountain range, with jagged edges and peaks in different places, yet she keeps on cutting. It’s not until her hair is shoulder-length that she stops, throws the scissors down, and looks into the mirror. The pink suddenly spreads to her cheeks, and they become covered with tears. Again.
Vanessa was one of the most organised people that you could ever meet. Her room was filled with calendars, whiteboards, notes, planners, pictures—anything that you could think of which would help her life go exactly the way it was supposed to. That week had started exactly how it was supposed to, with an early-morning gym session and then a brisk walk to school. Every class went exactly as planned, she did all of the work that she needed to, leaving minimal amounts of homework for the afternoon, which was already pre-booked by her hockey training. She liked it that way, always being busy, never really having a chance to think.
It only started with something minor, one thing that would be the start of everything going wrong in her eyes. A bad grade. The worst feeling ever for someone who feeds on academic validation like a leech. Her eyes fell down at the paper, and she made sure not to look around at anyone else. The blood-red 85 marked with a circle around it seemed to possess her—she couldn’t look away, she couldn’t speak to anyone, she was stuck. The people around her laughed and talked but it seemed like they were all so far away. In another reality. They all tried to remind her it was only a test. She hated when people told her that. So what if it was only a ‘test’? It was important. On the record forever. And an 75 was not going to suffice. Her thoughts seem to race away, almost like they are going for the gold medal. “A little bit lower than usual, but it’s alright Vanessa.” She looked into her maths’ teacher’s eyes, and felt like evaporating. This man, who she had only known for about a year and a half, was disappointed in her, and she wanted to do whatever it took to make it back up to him, despite the fact that he never really mattered. Nothing ever really matters.
The next morning when she woke up, it wasn’t five o’clock like it usually was. Like it always was. It was eight. And there was no way that she was going to be at school on time. She had, of course, never been late before, so she hurriedly got ready. She threw her books into her bag, got her laptop off of the charger, packed her lunch, grabbed her hockey bag, put on her uniform, and quickly ran out the door, to start her hike to school. 15 minutes had passed since the bell had sounded the start of the school day, and that really made her furious. Her whole walk was filled with mumbles on “you’re never late” and “stupid alarm clock”, before she finally reached the gate. And as she trudged into the school ground she realised that her worst fears had come true. It was a non-uniform day. And she was definitely not wearing jeans and an ACDC shirt like she usually would. She was wearing the horrid green skirt and the itchy grey jersey. Humiliated, the colour drained from her face as she walked into her first class of the day: Biology. And as she walked to the seat which she had mentally reserved at the start of the year she saw a tall figure occupying her space. The person’s hair was long and blonde, and her skin was fair like she was snow white or something. And as Vanessa observed her from the seat behind, she quickly realised that she was like a perfect princess. This coveted new girl had already made heaps of friends, she was rumoured to be a netball pro, and worst of all she was also smart. Like really smart. She answered all of the teacher’s questions like she already had her degree, leaving everyone around her in awe of her intelligence. To Vanessa, this new girl (who she hadn’t even learned the name of) was like a log lying across a once smooth road. It was completely in the way, and made her really annoyed. She was competition, just like everyone else, but she was a greater threat. Biology was Vanessa’s subject. She was the best. And now this stupid smart new girl was going to beat her. And she couldn’t stand the thought of that.
She felt relieved when she put on her hockey uniform that afternoon, and finally didn’t stick out from the ground like an ugly duckling anymore. She walked out onto the turf and started warming up, hitting the ball back and forth with Amelia. “I just don’t know how it happened you know, like I thought I did pretty good, but no. Clearly I didn’t study hard enough.”
Ameila shook her head. “Vanessa cut yourself some slack, a 75 is not bad.”
“And have you seen that new girl? The one who’s like 6 foot? She sat in my seat in biology today. I don’t like her already.” Vanessa complained. Amelia rolled her eyes, and then let an overly-loud sigh escape from her mouth.
“Don’t be ridiculous Vanessa, you don’t even know her. She is probably really nice.”
“Really nice, but still competition.” she muttered, the fog from her breath following from her last word. They continued to pass the ball between each other, which made a loud clicking noise every time it hit the sticks.
The game was about to start, so they prepared to go out onto the turf. Vanessa placed her badly-moulded white mouthguard into her mouth and ran out into her position. She leaned over so that her stick touched the ground, and then waited to hear the piercing sound of the whistle. Once it had sounded, she became a mosquito who was attracted to a light, running to the ball at all costs, no matter where it moved.
That was the problem. She forgot to consider what the actual costs would be, and in this instance it would be her ankle. As she ran to the ball, Vanessa saw a bright blue stick coming from her right, which then clipped her ankle. She flew up into the air like a majestic bird, but in a split second she fell straight into the sandy, wet turf, not so majestically. She lay on her stomach on the ground, with her eyes closed to block out the bright flood lights that seemed to be getting brighter. She couldn’t hear anything, because everything seemed to be drowned out by the throbbing pain in her ankle. It was like she was floating in space, her mind a far distance away from anyone else in the world. She rolled over onto her back to try and hold her ankle, hoping to ease the pain. Two of her teammates sat her up, and she slowly came back to reality. Her face was wet with tears and sand from the turf, but she still managed to laugh when Amelia asked if she had enjoyed her trip. After they helped her up and walked the one-legged girl to the bench, she sat down and watched the game with an ice pack glued to her ankle. And as she sat there she thought about what would happen next. If this injury was serious, she could be out of the sport for up to six months. A part of her life which took up most of her afternoons could be ruled out, for what seemed to her like eternity. She feared for her skill and fitness, after time off would her talent just dwindle away, and would she lose all that she had worked so hard for? Her vision became blurry from the water that started filling her eyes, but she quickly wiped it away with the straps of her dress.
She dropped all of her things on the pale-brown wooden floor in the doorway, and then flopped onto the mid grey couch in the nearby living room. And she couldn’t hold it in anymore. She was so done with everything. Everything had gone wrong. She lay on her couch and tears rushed down her face like waterfalls. She buried her face in the material which then turned into more of a dark-grey from all of the water it was absorbing. She just cried and cried, thinking about everything that she did wrong. It was all her fault. She had flunked an easy test, she had hurt her ankle, she was way dumber than that stupid new girl, and she had disappointed everyone. She had disappointed herself. And she hated that thought. She hated disappointment. So she put on her sneakers and ran down to the local supermarket. She limped into the shop with messy hair, and a puffy, tear-soaked face. And she headed straight for the hair-dye. She grabbed the first bottle that she found, and brought it instantly. Because, if she has stuffed everything else up, why couldn’t she stuff her hair up as well?
Her long, natural, brown waves didn’t stand a chance against her bleach and the pink. And so there she was, staring into the mirror with a head covered in pink and a heart full of sorrow and disappointment. She had let everyone down, so to take out her rage she felt the need for an impulsive decision. If her plans were not going to plan, she might as well forget all about being organised and perfect. She was done with making every last decision planned down to the last detail. She had never even thought about dying her hair before, she assumed it would probably make her strike attention for the wrong reasons. But she was finished caring about everyone’s requirements and perceptions of her. And now, she was stuck with a head covered in cotton candy hair, filled with the everlasting struggle of trying to be the perfect girl.
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