Ugly Girl
By Morri Spang

Every school has an ugly girl. In my elementary school, it was me.
I had weak ankles and tended to walk on the inside of my feet. My parents were afraid it would get worse, so from first grade through fourth, I had to wear clunky, heavy orthopedic shoes. I sounded like an overweight elephant wearing bricks whenever I took a single step.
"Hey, Bigfoot!"
"Geez, you're going to start an earthquake in those clodhoppers!"
Then in sixth grade I had to start wearing glasses. Would my parents let me choose some stylish frames, something pretty? Not a chance. Mom asked for the least expensive ones and that made me look like a dork.
"Four eyes!"
"Couldn't you cover up more of your face? Why stop at the eyes?"
To counteract my goofy look, I started competing on the city swim team, thinking that if I got a killer body, nobody would notice my face. Wrong again. I loved being fast and winning ribbons now and then, but now I had red, dripping eyes from the chlorine in the pool. I also did not, definitely did not, develop a killer body. Instead of becoming a knockout, I had no butt at all-in fact, I had no body fat anywhere. Even where I wanted it.
"Flatsy!"
"Excuse me, little boy,....ooops!"
Eighth grade was supposed to be great. It was the last year of middle school.
My strategy was to do good things for other people. I offered my help on a term paper. I baby-satter for other girls, so they could hang out with their friends. My new program began to work; people who would never have acknowledged my existence before were suddenly seeking me out.
"Hey, Morri, you're strong-will you help me rake the leaves at my house after school?"
"Morri, you're good at organizing. Will you come by my house tomorrow and help straighten the garage?"
"Morri, ..."
I'd been feeling pretty good about being seen as the kind of person you could come to, the person who had some skill and talent to offer to others. But when I went to Christine's house to help her stuff envelopes, I realized the truth. Going into each envelope was an invitation to Christine's birthday party; it was a big deal event at a fancy hotel, complete with dinner, the pool rented out just for her. She asked me to help her address these envelopes. There was no envelope for me.
From then on, I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. I wanted to escape the hypercritical eyes of middle school and just make it through the summer. High school had to be better, right?
Yes and no. Now that I'm here, I've found out that there are still lots of shallow people who like you or not, based on what you're wearing or how cool your hair is. But there are also kids who talk to you because they liked your answers in European History. Some kids can't care less what you wear-as long as you're kind, honest, and a good friend.
I hooked up with some kids to do kind things because I like the feeling I get when I am helping people. I went with Hamal when he drove some old people to their doctor's appointments. And I loved it when about 20 of us started hanging out at Children's Hospital, playing games and reading to the sick kids.
I still had drippy red eyes and flat chest, but you cannot tell me I am not beautiful. Every time I visit the hospital, five-year-old Terry grabs my hand and coos, "Morri, you're so nice. I want to grow up to be just like you."