Two months later, after the summer break, I attended school. It was my first day of third-year high school. The sun was dazzling the clear sky. I walked the hallways and passed through the corridors. In the corridor in front of the classroom, Rosalyn and her friends were chatting and laughing. They saw me as I walked. Rosalyn smirked. “Oh my, what’s with the new look? You look like a zombie.” She and her friends pressed their palms together, producing a “crack” sound, and laughed wildly. I was suddenly conscious of the way I looked. Did I look bad?
I was wearing a tied shirt with the logo of a band called Death Swallows. The logo was a grim reaper wielding a scythe full of dripping blood. On top of the logo was the band’s name printed in a gothic-style font. On my waist was a short red and black plaid mini skirt. On my legs were red fishnet stockings with skulls and black studded boots. My ear cartilage was pierced, and a small stud earring was placed on it. On my neck was a black tiered necklace with little hearts and a cross in the middle below the hearts. On my left wrist was a spiked leather bracelet, and on my right wrist was a gold and black leather watch. A small leather handbag was on my arm. On my face, I patted BB cream, a concealer, and some pressed powder. I lightly brushed a small amount of pink blush on my cheeks. I blended a smokey black eyeshadow and carefully put eyeliner on the lines of my eyes, creating a cat-eye effect. I applied mascara to my eyelashes to elongate them. I dabbed peachy, nude lipstick on my lips. I curled my hair in smooth waves.
I was satisfied with my look when I peered at myself in the mirror. I even smiled and told myself that today was going to be a beautiful day. But then, Rosalyn’s criticism and her friends’ evil laughter made me conscious and insecure about myself. I felt my tears pouring down my face.
“Oh, please don’t cry,” Danielle murmured to me. She quickly and carefully dabbed my tears with her floral handkerchief. “This will ruin your makeup. You look fine.”
“Really? ”I whispered to her in a shaky voice. I slowly stopped myself from crying.
“Yes, dear,” she assured me. Her voice was gentle and sweet. She smiled warmly at me.
A split second later, her facial expression and tone changed like an actress in two different scenarios. She glared and yelled at Rosalyn.
“You really don’t know a thing about fashion, do you? Imogen’s look is high fashion. It’s the look female rockers like her wear. She doesn’t look like a zombie. She looks beautiful. Hell, she even looks prettier than you. You’re just jealous of Imogen because you can’t pull off this type of look. If you try, you’d look like a mindless, repulsive monster created by a drug addict and mad scientist.”
All our classmates laughed, including Rosalyn’s friends. I smiled a bit. Rosalyn glowered and nudged at her minions. Her minions apologized to her.
My classmates complimented my new look. They said things like:
“I love your outfit! You look like a rocker, student! ”
“Yeah, a student by day, a rock singer by night.”
“I adore your makeup. It suits your beautiful face well.”
“It’s gothic makeup. You really pull it off! ”
“Yeah, you look innocent and cool at the same time. Some girls who wear gothic makeup look scary. You look like a doll.”
“I like your beach waves. They frame your face perfectly.”
“You’re so good at makeup. I wish I could do that.”
“Your skirt is so cute! ”
“Please wear this look every day. Now that you look like a total rock star, I’m so looking forward to your covers.”
I thanked them all. I promised myself that I would do more great metal covers. My dad built a soundproof system in my bedroom so I wouldn’t cause disturbance at home, and both he and Mom wouldn’t hear me screaming and growling.
My fellow students admired my new look. I was showered with compliments everywhere I went within the premises. But someone didn't appreciate it. My new homeroom teacher, a woman in her 40s with bob-cut hair and bangs and eyeglasses, told me, “Hey, rocker chick, you shouldn’t wear that outfit in this school. It’s not allowed here. And your skirt is too short and doesn’t follow the school guidelines.”
Rosalyn laughed out loud. But our new homeroom teacher scolded her. “Keep quiet, young lady! ”
The teacher continued, “I’ll let it slide since this is your first day in school and all. But tomorrow, make sure to wear the correct uniform, or if you still haven’t bought it, wear appropriate clothes and shoes.”
She stared at my spiked boots. She glared at me and tutted. “You can hurt anyone with those boots, sweetie.”
I wanted to tell her that the spikes on my boots couldn’t hurt anyone. But I didn’t want to be impolite. So, I just bit my tongue.
“Kids these days do not know how to respect the school and wear the proper attire. The new homeroom teacher shook her head in disappointment. I was fuming. I couldn’t believe that the new homeroom teacher was reprimanding me like I was a bad student. I had proven to everyone that I was a model student. I was loved by students and teachers. But this new teacher judged me based on the way I dressed! I had a new hater. A teacher of all people! I could feel myself frowning. But I smiled. The teacher didn’t smile back. Ms. Annie Payne, our homeroom teacher and chemistry teacher, discussed her grading system and a little introduction to chemistry. I vowed to myself that I would study harder than ever and crush the subject. I would destroy her wrong impression of me.