Chapter 3
"You look like you're ready to pass out," one man says from behind me, and I jump like a feet from where I'm standing.
He chuckles, arms shooting out – thankfully – to steady me.
"I feel like puking," I admit.
"You're not from Peyton, are you?" he asks, brown eyes curious.
Why is he talking to me?
Is he also nervous?
I shake my head.
"Underwood."
His lips curve into a haughty smirk.
"Tough competition.
A lot of us here are from inside."
Suddenly, I am irritated.
I glare at him.
What is he implying?
That I'm nobody compared to them?
What a jerk.
"Thank you for pointing that out, Mr. Obvious."
For some reason, my reaction amuses this jerk.
He flashes me a grin too wide and too white to be normal.
What is he now, some Colgate commercial model?
"Fiery.
I like that."
"I like that about myself too," I frown.
"Now, can you please back off?"
"Why?
Don't you want to socialize?
I'm from a family of musicians."
Like I care.
"I'm not here to mingle.
I'm here to feel music."
"Feel?" he repeats, like feel is a foreign word.
He tilts his head to the side, looking more like an idiot in his attempt to be adorable.
"Not to score that free slot of making a big name?"
How.
Dare.
He?
!
Who does he think he is?
What does he take me for?
I'm royally pissed; I so want to throttle his throat.
"You are the most – "
"Number 12, please come up the stage."
I close my eyes and swallow my anger.
Without looking back, I march outside the room, towards the center of the stage, holding onto my violin like my life depended on it.
Well, in a way, it does.
The piano accompaniment, someone provided by Peyton, gives me a nod.
He knows that he will not be playing, as I've briefed him about my piece half an hour ago.
It seems like I made an impression on him -- he looks grateful that I am giving his hands a break.
"Tell us something about yourself, why should we pick you and what piece you'll be playing," a stern-looking old man from the judges' table gruffly tells me in a bored manner.
"I – " My mind blanks out, and for a moment, all I can see is Karim and Lana seating two rows from the back, looking so intimate and lovey-dovey to each other.
"12? 12!
Excuse me, are you gonna start anytime soon, or should we call the next one?" the man barks angrily.
I look around panicked.
"I – uh, I'm sorry!
I'm Jolie Stone, and I – "
Words fly out of my mouth so fast, I can't even comprehend the gibberish I'm spouting.
From the looks I am getting, I can bet my savings fund that I'm beet red, flustered and has made a complete fool of myself.
The man in the center sighs, mutters something under his breath, and then signals me to go away.
This is my only chance.
I can't mess this up!
But I already did.
And I've let my chance slip off from my hands.
"Next!" the man shouts.
Tears fall from my eyes.
Humiliation, fear, anger and pain.
I can no longer distinguish which from what.
Music is all I have.
Nothing else.
Do I give up here, like I've given up on Karim?
No,my mind screams.No!
Instead of leaving the spotlight like any decent people will do, I lift my violin and begin my solo, ignoring the judges' protests, letting my emotions go, turning my sadness and longing to a melody that will touch a person's heart.
Because I am here not to become famous, not to be world-renowned, but to feel music...
... and let people feel my music.
To feel me.
"I am the person I am now because of you."
"Hey, fatso, why are you still eating?
Give me that!" Nixon snagged my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and ran back to the safe cocoon of his snickering friends.
"You should lose some pounds, you fatso!"
"Yeah!
You shouldn't eat for a day!"
"No, a month!"
"Start starving yourself!
Maybe then, you'll be worthy of breathing the same air as us."
The eyes of my ten year old self burned with tears.
I stood my ground, glaring at them, but never opening my mouth.
No, I wasn't afraid of them.
They were rude and mean, but they never touched me.
They never hurt me.
At least, they intended to, but they couldn't hurt a girl who had come to accept what she truly is.
They were simply confirming what I knew.
I was fat.
I was ugly.
Undesirable.
I knew how disgusting I look, with my pale, freckled skin and my body that is too large for a kid my age.
I was a freak who could never wear a cute dress or a pair of leggings, who would never look good even with all the make-up and the curlers in the world – because none of them would change who I am.
Who I was.
Not even my mom would call me pretty, which in itself was a painful blow to my esteem.
She was too engrossed with work, too busy keeping the family together even when it's obvious that things were falling apart, and too much of a perfectionist to realize that I would never be her ideal daughter... even failing to consider that I was also a person with her own mind.
"J!" Karim yelled from the other side of the hall, arms waving at me, a dimpled smile adorning his face.
"What are you doing there?
I was waiting for you at our table!
I'm famished!"
I put a smile and faced him with hands on my hips.
As soon as he was within hearing range, I snorted at him.
"Famished?
Can you even spell that?"
"Of course!
What do you take me for?"
His mischievous eyes told me that no, he couldn't spell it, and I could only laugh as he started pushing me towards the cafeteria even though I was more than double his size.
Karim was tall even for a boy, and given that he played baseball, his arms were strong.
Yet he couldn't even budge me an inch.
The temporary happiness that his presence brought vanished.
What other proof do I need to emphasize how much an embarrassment I am to the human race?
"Hey, you, Valdez!" Nixon sneered at him.
His tone was taunting.
"You're starting to smell like that stupid fatso.
Planning to get infected with her ugliness?"
I gripped the hem of my shirt, knuckles white as my tears started to flow.
Karim saw this and blocked me from their sight, arms on his side, and his back on me.
"Bullying?
And a girl?
How low can you stoop, Smith?"
"Do you consider that pig a girl?"
"Should I consider you a girl?"
"Karim, stop it – " I protested, but he ignored me and continued to fling insults to red-faced Nixon.
"I bet my fart smells better than you both!"
"Oh, so you get high smelling your own stinky fart, Smith?"
Good thing that a teacher came before it escalated into a brawl.
Like the cowards they're known for, Nixon and his friends immediately left, but not without threats and dirty grins.
I knew they would get worse over time.
I hated that I was the reason Karim would get into trouble.
He was a great boy, and he never deserved to be hated.
After the teacher shooed the spectators away, she turned to us and ordered us to immediately visit the principal's office.
As we waited outside the door, Karim faced me with a concerned gaze.
"Why didn't you tell me?
How long have they been doing this to you?"
"I-It's okay."
"It's not okay!"
In a shaky voice, I asked, "Why?"
He raised a disbelieving brow.
"Why?
You're asking me why this is not okay?"
I shook my head.
"Why are you still my friend?
Nixon is calling you a loser because you keep on hanging around me."
"Are you for real?" he frowned with an eye roll.
"I'm your friend because you are my friend.
If you don't understand that, you are an idiot."
He patted my head and after the principal interrogated us, he led me back to the cafeteria, where he bought me two brownies and a grape juice.
"Eat," he ordered, "No matter what they say, I think you're cool the way you are."
"But I'm fat."
"I should care because?"
His dark eyes never left mine, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world for finding the one person who accepted me as me. Flaws included.