Author: Rachel Vincent

I’ll never forget when somebody called me pretty. It was at school. She wasn’t too bad herself, but I’m not one to judge. Her hair could use a cut, but she was nice. I instantly thanked her, but the thought stayed with me on the way home.

When I looked in the mirror that afternoon, my blue eyes shining hopefully, I realized I was pretty. I hadn’t really looked before, or cared. Just a simple ponytail, a t-shirt, and jeans, worked for me. I had a nice shiny head of hair, and my lips were a nice pink-red color. I wasn’t fat, either, I was really into basketball.

I tried looking for the beauty in others, and it turned out it wasn’t hard. A lot of people at school were nice, and everywhere else there were lots of beautiful people. I’ve never thought of the definition of the word. I always thought of pretty as someone who had nice features. Now I had a new definition.


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