A picture of the Yellowjackets in Wiskayok High School always triggered a frenzy of each member's names spoken with a hint of worship.

They were unforgettable—them with their "since birth" charm.

There was Shauna's broody, doe-like brown pearls that melted ice. Lottie, the unattainable heiress gifted with athleticism and looks. And Jackie Taylor, the magnetic leader who collected admirers, despite being off the market.

Put a picture of the equipment manager, and cue the cricket silence. Silence that made a library rowdy.

If silence wasn't the preferred reaction, then it was an avalanche of critiques targeted towards her flaws. Rings of the phone, crinkled balls of paper, and her desk would bear the permanent marker of mockery—names making God frown.

Thus, at seventeen, she embraced the ugly duckling label. She was a repulsive toy destined to be tucked away, left to gather dust.

So, when you rose from her seat with the age-old excuse of needing the bathroom, no one expected anything remarkable. She focused on her studies, the one realm compensating her lack of beauty.

A whoosh of air passed by, and a note fluttered on her desk—you had dropped it.

Her pencil froze mid-stroke as she took a deep breath, bracing for impact.

She opened it, steeling herself for yet another verbal dagger aimed at her self-esteem, another blow, and then saw—

You're pretty.

"Did... you really mean to give this to me?" Misty asked the giver after class. One hand balled firmly around her bag's strap, while the other cradled the note without a crumple in sight.

It was treasure to her.

And as she glanced at her peer's face, marked with red blemishes like her own, acne scars forming constellations on your skin—she wondered:

How can someone be so beautiful?