Chapter 4
“Few women really achieve beauty. They may paint their face and fix their hair, but true beauty is about becoming the type of person whose strength of character, appreciation for others, and self-respect are so outstanding that those qualities shine through until no other flaw is apparent.” Mrs. Prim’s Primer to Poise, Charm and Beauty Section 3, Chapter 1: Achieving the Impossible—Charm: Communication and Conversation
“‘Charm can be taught, just like any other skill,’” I quoted from the book.
Only Marie seemed to be listening, an earbud in one ear, the other hanging loose.
Someone snorted.
Who dared to mock The Book? I cast a sharp eye at Kat.
She wore bright red lipstick and paled her face. She said she was going to a Japanese film later with a guy, but she hadn’t made the sound.
I narrowed my eyes at Lisa.
Behind her book, she was listening. She’d insisted she was not listening when we read the other chapters out loud. Maybe she’d eavesdropped this whole time. I mean, she still looked like she wasn’t paying attention to me. Or maybe the snort just happened to coincide with whatever she was reading.
I found my spot in the book. “‘With a little practice,’” I continued, “‘you, too, can add this valuable skill set to your repertoire.’”
Lisa didn’t leave or huff out of the room. Her laugh must have been oddly coincidental.
I continued on. “Okay, let’s take the survey. ‘Ask a friend to help evaluate the areas in which you need improvement.’ Well, there’s a list here. You guys wanna help me figure out what I need?”
Kat jumped onto the couch. “Sure, but don’t take too much time. I still need to put on my kimono.”
I raised a brow. “Kimono? Where did you get a kimono?”
“Japan, duh! Where else would you get a kimono?”
“When did you go to Japan?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.
She glanced up to the ceiling in an exaggerated thinking expression. “Junior year.”
This was the first time I’d heard of her internationally traveling. Cool.
“And I speak Japanese.”
That I didn’t believe. I frowned.
Kat placed her hands together in prayer mode and bowed to us. “Hajimemashou.”
“What did you say?”
All humility gone, Kat bounded on the couch. “I said, ‘Let’s start.’”
I looked back to the open book. “Okay, now answer these honestly for me.”
She saluted and laid on her back, her arms behind her head.
I chewed the pen cap. “Question one. Do you go out of your way to help people?”
Kat studied me with a decisive air. “No.”
“What?” Despite not learning the habit at home, I’d kept up with the dishes.
She arched a brow. “Well, how often do you offer to do anyone’s chores?”
I glanced over to the heaping pile of Kat’s dishes. “I do my chores.” I folded my arms, irritated she neglected her dish duty.
She wagged her finger. “Yes, you may do your chores, but that’s not service, that’s duty. You never offer to help anyone else.”
True. I usually grumble instead of offer to help.
I furrowed my brow. “I’ll mark that as a five out of ten.” I kept score on my paper. “Next, ‘Are you dependable?’”
“No.”
“Kat!” I threw down my pen.
She thrust out her jaw. “You shouldn’t be defensive of constructive criticism.”
“You’re not helping my self-esteem.” I stared at the paper and the book.
Kat huffed. “The purpose of this exercise isn’t to fluff your ego. It’s to find your weaknesses. I’m just helping you improve. Sometimes you forget to do as promised.”
Okay, maybe she was right. Sometimes I forget my promises. I could be better at that. Marked as a five.
“Am I tolerant toward others?” I braced myself for her answer.
“Yes.”
Relief washed over me at her response.
“At least toward your friends.”
“GAH!” A little hot poker skewered me in the heart.
“You said you weren’t very nice to Beau after he broke up with you.”
“That’s not intolerance. He’s my ex-boyfriend. I’m allowed to hate him.” I told them the whole story complete with pictures and even a few tears in my eyes.
Kat shrugged.
I felt like I was a tolerant person. I put seven. “Do I attempt to dominate people?”
“No,” she said emphatically.
“Really?” I flicked the pen.
“If anything, I’d say you were a pushover.”
“That’s not on the list.” I flipped over a few pages after marking a ten. “At least, not this one.”
Kat waved her hand. “Continue.”
“Am I a showoff?”
“Sometimes.”
I sighed. “I mean, do I talk about how much I know and stuff?”
“You don’t know that much.”
“So…” I waved my pen.
“I’d give you a three.”
“Thank you.” I scowled. I thought I knew a lot of stuff.
Kat stared at the ceiling. “Wait, is three good or bad? I’d say you were a three as in you don’t know that much stuff, but if a ten is that you show off a lot I’d give you a ten.”
I gripped the book. “Let’s just move on. Am I condescending?”
“Is this a question or rhetorical?” Kat raised her head off the couch.
“One of the questions.” I held my mouth straight.
“You want my honest answer?”
“Yes, of course.” But with her question, now I worried about her reply.
Kat paused. Her body relaxed, as if something changed in her. “You can be condescending.” Her voice even changed to something in a normal pitch and timber.
Guilt bubbled up in my heart. Sometimes I questioned the veracity of Kat’s stories. I swallowed a large portion of guilt.
I put a one—Needs Most Improvement.
Tears pinched my eyes and nose. My voice cracked reading the next one. The tone of the room changed. The survey, too. I no longer thought about making fun of myself. A heavy, burden settled on me by this new realization.
“Am I honest with people?” I asked flatly.
“Yes.”
“Am I sarcastic?”
Kat answered right away. “Only when it’s funny.”
“Do I make fun of people?”
“No.”
I slammed the book shut. “Okay, all done. Thank you.” I stood and, leaving the book, made a motion to go to my room.
Kat raised her head from the couch. “I wouldn’t tell you things if you didn’t want to know.”
“I know.”
“You can’t improve your faults unless you know them.”
I didn’t reply. I just opened the door to my room. Once in my room, the two big tears welling in the corner of my eyes finally fell, pushed out by a giant sigh.
“I am a mess,” I said to my posters and schoolbooks. I flopped down on my bed. How did I ever make it out of high school? People must’ve thought me stuck-up and horrid. No wonder I don’t have any friends. And all my friendlessness was all my fault. I wasn’t trying to be proud. I was trying to be funny. But I was condescending to Kat. The realization pained me. Being condescending was worse than being ugly. Worse than being alone, for now I knew the cause of all my pain. Even if I wore makeup or had a nice haircut, still I’d repulse people with my personality.
But I had no idea how to change. How do you change your personality—something ingrained into you since you were a little girl? My father was the essence of condescension. No matter how old I was, he always treated me with belittling contempt. I needed a makeover for my soul—something to change me inside.
The next day, a flier blew in the breeze where it was pinned to the board in the Comm building. I tore it off the pin. I knew it was what we all needed.
“Hey, girls.” I burst through the door, sweaty from nearly running home in the triple digit heat. “Look at this.”
I held out the flyer.
Marie, still fresh despite the heat, took the paper from me. “The UA Service Club?”
“Yes, I think we should join—for the good of our souls. They have monthly service projects. And they run fundraisers for a larger, national non-profit. Joining will be great!”
Marie read the flier. “The opening social is in two days. They’ll be meeting to elect officers. What a great opportunity to try out our poise and charm.”
My confidence faltered. “I’ve only practiced two weeks. We haven’t been through the whole book yet. I don’t think I’m ready. We’d better at least look over conversation again and practice!”