Work Text:
As we grow, we’re always told “never judge a book by its cover” but some people just don’t listen to that after age 7. I like reading, studying, cats, writing, and other things others my age like. I’m awkward but isn’t everyone? My double cover freaks out others.
I don’t remember how or why but I hide my face from everyone. My friends, family, anyone really. I avoid mirrors and windows because I don’t wanna see what’s behind the second cover. Why do my friends even like me? They don’t know what I look like. They’ve seen my eyes. My ugly heterochromous eyes.
My friends say they don’t care what I look like. Everyone has told me that before just so I could show them what’s behind the cover. I never give in either way. I hate peer pressure so much.
I had this one friend. I don’t remember her name but I know she was really mean to me at times. She’d always pester me about wanting to see what I looked like but I always told her what I told everyone else; “Whenever I feel like it.” She’d tease me for everything I did. What I liked, what I wore, and how my skin looked like. I wish the cover would also hide the patches. I wish the patches were gone.
“Hey Book!”
huh? Who’s that?
When I looked over to see who called my name, I saw… her.
I might hide behind a cover but at least there’s one person who doesn’t pester me about wanting to see what’s behind it.
Needle.
Something about her always makes my awkwardness go away. She’s just really amazing. Also kind of pretty… huh? What am I saying!?
“Oh hey Needle!” I tell her back. I try my best to act normal and not like I wasn’t thinking about her just now. Sometimes I wonder how someone like her could possibly be friends with someone like me. Does my cover not bother her?
Why is my mind only making me think about Needle? She’s just my friend. We’re just friends and only friends.
We both start walking together through the hallways. I swear I could feel her hand brushing against mine but maybe that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I glance down and see she’s sagging her pants again. I don’t remember how many times I’ve told her to quit doing that and every time she never listens.
“Needle, how many times have I told you to pull up your pants. Gosh this is the 100th time!” I jokingly tell her. I hear her laughing and… oh my word it’s just so intoxicating! She surprisingly listens to me this time and quits with the sagging pants. I never understood how that could be comfortable.
Needle glances over at me and messes with my hair. I immediately begin blushing. I’m so happy the cover comes in handy during times like this. We continue talking and suddenly I see something or someone
I recognize that voice, that hair, that style. It’s my old friend. Somehow, I suddenly remember her name.
Pencil.