The Pretty Girl

By Alita Nicholas

Inspired by real events, this story will take you on an entertaining ride right into the very heart of what it means to be beautiful. Emerson, a 15-year-old sophomore with bad skin, is approached one day by her friend who, along with many others at her school, is infatuated by "the pretty girl" - a new student who materialises mysteriously on campus one day and whose face inspires curiosity, admiration and even infatuation in her peers.

She's new.
She's fly.
She's the girl everyone's talking about.

But what has "the pretty girl" got to say for herself? And does anyone around her care to hear it?

A not-totally-shallow short by the author of The Little Molecule.

***Contains some profanity and reader discretion is advised.***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alita Nicholas
• Release date: Apr 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201166571

Book preview

the pretty girl

a short

by

Alita Nicholas

For Samantha –

one of the beautiful ones

All eyes on me when I walk in

No question that this girl’s a ten

Don’t hate me ’cause I’m beautiful

Don’t hate me ’cause I’m beautiful

-Keri Hilson, Pretty Girl Rock

I WAS A SOPHOMORE in high school when I first encountered her: The Pretty Girl. I use caps because that became her name, at least among my friends. And that was because we didn’t actually know what her real name was. All we knew about her was that she was pretty.

It was one of those unusually hot afternoons in mid-spring where you just want to be lazing at home shovelling ice-cream instead of pulling up your sweaty socks, concentrically ringed with dirt, and trudging off to yet another boring class at the end of lunch hour.

My best friend, Phyllis, her friend, Alexa, Alexa’s friend, Raimi, and I, Emerson (please don’t hate our parents, m’kay), were all walking down the path that separated the science lab from the football oval in our tiny school where most everyone knew everyone else, when, out of nowhere, Alexa began doing this weird skippy little step and waving her hands.

And so, it begins...

It’s her! In the white top!

Who? Raimi and I ask in unison.

The pretty girl! Alexa and Phyllis reply, also in unison. Their declaration is more like a chorus of celebration.

Who’s ‘the pretty girl’? I ask, tossing my half-eaten popsicle at the nearest can and missing. Some hypoglycaemic ants will have a nice afternoon treat.

She’s new, Phyllis informs me and Raimi. She’s from, like, South America or somewhere...

I thought it was South Africa, Alexa interjects, her eyes trained on the back of the pretty girl’s bobbing brown head as she moves among the throng of students ahead of us.

I look at the pretty girl. From the back, I can’t make out that much. She appears to be of average height with an average-looking body, tanned or olive skin and medium-length straight brown hair with golden highlights, perhaps from an abundance of Brazilian or African sun.

I shrug, not really interested. Growing up with a tall blonde for a sister, who now parades the runways of New York, Paris and Milan, frankly, it’s hard for me to become excited about an average-looking (at least from the back) girl. But, I reason with myself, she could have a simply stunning face, like Aishwarya Rai, so I decide not to judge a book by its ... well, back cover.

I decide to join in with my friends’ enthusiasm. "Oh my God, let’s follow her," I suggest, trying to sound as seventh-grader as possible.

Phyllis gives me a strange sideways look. What?

I laugh. "Just kidding. I can’t believe you’re both getting so