The Hidden Girl

Her glossy smile and the way she tossed her pom-poms in the air cried out to the world that she was happy. Underneath her heavy makeup, there was a different story. The deep purple bruises stated tales of her father, losing his temper in a haze of vodka and Jack Daniels. Bags under her eyes whispered stories of too many sleepless nights.

And if anyone took a glance under her dry-cleaned and ironed cheerleading uniform, her instability would become glaringly obvious. The bright red gashes and prominent bones threatening to tear right through her flesh screamed, “Look how out of control I am!”

So she plastered on a commercial-perfect grin and cheerily yelled, “Go team!” with the rest of her squad. She was not a charity case and she was not a kicked puppy. But she wasn’t this postcard of popularity that she showcased to onlookers. She was a hidden girl. She used a false image of what she wished she could be while desperately shouting, “Don’t pay any attention to the girl behind the screen!”

By Stephanie 

Comments

[Diane]

Wow. What a powerful expression of the pain that's all too prevalent. Thank you for this-please keep writing.