Allison

Allison has both weight and self-esteem issues.  She takes most of her self-image from what others think of her, especially boys.  Here, she tries to make herself into a doll.  Allison first appeared in OGW 4/8/10.

Allison:  I was going through this box of my things from like around fifth grade, and I found this doll with blond hair like mine only better of course because it’s smooth and straight and goes down to the doll’s butt.  I’ve been growing my hair out for a year, and my hair only just goes past my shoulders, plus it’s ragged and all different lengths from when I stupidly had it cut short and “sassy” – that was the word I used, and…

Where was I?

     Oh yeah, the doll.  So, I uncover this doll and I realize that I have a black shirt with a pink skull on it just like the doll is wearing, and I have pink sneakers and the perfect pink and black plaid skort that’s in my “thin clothes” drawer, but maybe I can fit in it.

Maybe I can be just like this doll.  I want to be like a doll.  I want her smile.

The shorts part of the skort squeezes my thighs, but with black leggings underneath, it’s not so bad. 

The doll is flat in front.  My skull shirt is baggy and hides my humungous alien breasts pretty well, and my tummy too, kinda.  I can be a doll.

With a Sharpie marker, I put pink streaks in my hair like the doll has.  I know, I know, Sharpies are permanent ink… I know my Mom is going to tell me this, if she notices at all.

I am going to tell everyone at school that they made a doll after me.  I am going to tell Trevor and he’s going to say “Of course they’d do that, because you’re a doll, Allison!”

And then I’ll smile, secure like my doll.  

Eva

Eva:  New outsider girl Eva walks with a limp, has a lazy eye, has an unfortunate haircut… well, read on and you’ll see.

Eva:

I had a dream

I met my twin.

We wore the same earrings:

Scalloped mother-of-pearl.

We met in my doctor’s office.

“Take a book, leave a book”

Says a sign on a basket.

There is a water cooler

At one end of the room

A mirror you walk by

To get to it

That I never look in.

I hate my doctor’s office.

Soon I will have to undress,

And I worry what she will think.

I smiled at my twin, shy.

“Your hair looks like mine,”

She said with a sneer.

I noticed her hair was some

Shade of brown-blonde,

My shade of brown-blonde,

Attempting to be a cute bob.

Unsuccessful.

“Your breasts are kinda small,

I noticed,” I said, as I

I got a small, paper cone

Of water, limped with it

Back to my seat,

Sipped,

And stared.

“You walk funny,”

Said my twin.

“You talk funny,”

I said, feeling meaner,

“Your nose is bent,”

“Your forehead is too high”

“Your zits are gross,”

“You have a lazy eye.”

We scowled,

We pouted,

We stared,

We glared,

And finally,

We cried.