The sun shines warmly through the large windows of my room into my face.

Everything is perfect:

I sleep in a large wooden bed with silk sheets. In my cabinet, which is decorated with artistic carvings, hang colorful, noble robes. On my wooden chest of drawers is a pretty glass bottle filled with the most wonderful perfume, and a light blue upholstered chair stands in front of it.

Above the chest of drawers hangs a mirror, the silver rim of which is set with turquoise gemstones. Pink fabric wallpaper adorns the walls of my room and white curtains hang airily next to my windows. On my bedside table is a silver candlestick. The light blue candle burned overnight.

Silver, not gold.

My home is golden enough.

Silver goes so much better with the delicate shades that I love.

Everything sparkles.

The prisms and pictures made of colored glass on my high windows paint delicate plays of color on the walls.

Tired, I get up.

The white nightgown falls comfortably around my body. My reflection smiles tiredly at me. With a dainty silver comb, I comb my light, almost white, long hair, which falls in wild curls around my face. The curls shimmer pale golden in the light of the sun.

Although it is early morning, my turquoise eyes seem awake and alert, which underlines my pale skin. This face is not real; I know that. It's so much nicer than my real one. I like to see this face in the mirror.

I'm not vain.

Really not.

But this face, that's me.

Me as I would like to be.

I reach for my powder box...

But just as I was about to open it, my annoying, stupid alarm clock started ringing!

Drunk with sleep, I groped for the annoying thing that caused this horrible beeping to throw it on the floor. I struggled out of bed, with the old mouse sheets I'd gotten for my birthday when I was seven, and stumbled, swaying towards the bathroom. Halfway through, however, I was forced to turn back:

I had forgotten my stupid glasses again.

Tired and with blurred vision, I tried to feel the forgotten object on my bedside table. First I held a flashlight in my hands, then a ballpoint pen...   Did everything on my bedside table have to be as red as my glasses?

And why didn't I find the stupid thing?

My eyes weren't that bad!

It was probably the tiredness.

Finally I found the ugly, red glasses. On the floor.

I almost stepped on it.

Oops.

With a clear view, I continued my way to the bathroom. There, as every horrible morning, a mirror awaited me. One of those mood dampeners. It is said that every woman has a problem area somewhere. Prejudices and magazine lies? Yes, yes. Just one problem area? I consisted exclusively of them: My dark blond curls, almost muddy brown, showed themselves straw-like and uncombable every morning. Over the last few days, to make matters worse, they had developed into a considerable felt-like curl mat.

Stubborn curls!

My dark, tired eyes were seemingly tripled by my glasse,s and my nose presented itself as a misshapen prong. Dark circles under the eyes did not make the overall picture any better.

My nose?

A gigantic mega-prong.

Basically, I was nothing more than a shriveled, 16-year-old toad. A toad that couldn't even sit on a lily pad without capsizing. No matter what I did, it went wrong. I was the born unlucky raven.

Wonderful.

Disgruntled, I began to brush my teeth. At least my average, almost perfect teeth should shine nicely.

Fortunately, I should get contact lenses in a few days. A small improvement on an unsolvable ugliness situation.

My appearance wouldn't bother me if my dearest classmates didn't like to comment on it.

Or, if I looked more like my parents...

I didn't really do that, but Mom insisted that I wasn't adopted.

Again I tried my luck with the brush... 

"Nelly!" I heard Mom call from the kitchen, "Hurry up! You have to go to school!"

Hastily, I took a look at the old pony clock that had always hung opposite the bathtub:

7:30 a.m.!

"Nelly!" Mom called again. "Will you hurry up?"

Desperately, I gave up combing my hair, dropped the brush on the floor, stormed into my room and put on something. Then, I rushed downstairs. Mom was busy with the dishwasher.

"I've already packed you some sandwiches. And now off with you. The bus will go without you, like yesterday and the day before... and... Whenever I or Dad can't drive you." Slightly annoyed, she pointed to my bag without looking at me.

"Yes, I know." I sighed. Tired and hungry and unmotivated.

Mom had already draped my bag on a chair. "Honey. Hurry up. I can't drive you to school today, you know that. Your father has the car."

I grabbed the bag and managed to say a frantic thank you, then I ran out the door.

The bus stop was five streets away, and the bus had the annoying habit of arriving early.  So I was just running for my messed-up life.

Mom has been annoyed by school too many times because my tardiness was legendary!

Legendary!

Completely out of breath and against all assumptions on my part, I caught my bus. At the last minute, I looked at my old, more functional than fashionable watch:

7:45 a.m.!

If I was lucky, I would be at school at 8:00 a.m. Classes began at 8:15 a.m. My heart was still racing, but I had made it. Just like many other students who came to class at the last minute.

As I slowly caught my breath, I noticed a soft giggle around me. Confused, I looked around. What was so funny? I couldn't find anything. Instead, there was a traffic jam at 7:50 a.m.

Again, my heart began to beat restlessly.  Everything around me was still giggling. What was so strange? The traffic jam was hardly the reason....

The passengers, almost all students and some random grandmas, threw me furtive glances. Some grinned at me too. The giggles grew louder. Was I the reason? Confused, I looked down at myself.... Green, broken sneakers, blue, faded jeans, red floral tunic, green cardigan. No.... I hadn't made a mistake in my random choice.

Sighing, I took another look at my watch. 8:00 a.m. The bus had hardly moved from the spot. The bus driver honked his horn, annoyed.

The giggling slowly died down. The looks of the other students now also took on a nervous expression. A fifth-grader began to cry softly. Apparently, she had a test in the first lesson.

I started playing with the closure of my bag. Too late, again. Mom would celebrate me. And this time it even was NOT my fault.

Well, maybe a little. Theoretically, I could take a bus earlier...

Another girl tried to comfort the fifth-grader. The kid said something about math and saving her grade.

Did my class also write a test? An exam?

Anything important that I would never need again later?

At 8:15 a.m. I finally reached my bus stop.

It took me another 10 minutes to arrive at the school building.

I walked the rest of the way to school. I had to catch up on 25 minutes of traffic jams in rush-hour traffic. I would still be late.

Relief spread through me when I could see the school building. It was a sympathetic old building with a small schoolyard and tasteless, colorful curtains in the windows. Remnants from the late nineties.

I ran to my classroom, which was on the third floor, and rumbled through the door.

"Sorry! The bus was stuck in a traffic jam!" I almost yelled at my class teacher, while I desperately tried not to lose my balance. A shoelace had come loose, and I NATURALLY got stuck on it.

Mr. Schrohtmeier sighed: "Nelly? Could you knock on the door before you enter the classroom? To put it better, fall into it? Instead of always bursting into it like a wild herd of elephants? Only once? I don't expect you to come on time for a long time."

Well... Unfortunately, I was (almost) always late for something. Even if my parents drove me to school. But, well, a lot can happen on the way from the school entrance to the classroom...

A lot!

And every time I stormed into the classroom, I almost tore down the wall.

Mr. Schrohtmeier shook his head and wrote something in the class register. "Now, sit down," he murmured and, with a casual wave of his hand, directed me to my seat next to Penelope, my best and only friend.

I nodded and stumbled in the direction of my seat.

Again, everyone started giggling.

Of course.

I passed Patrick.

The blond, handsome one in the class.

Patrick was cute, but unfortunately forgiven. And I was 'too ugly' for him.

That's what he told me when I confessed my great love to him at the age of twelve. Next to him sat Sina. His perfect girlfriend.

The two had put their heads together and whispered happily. Patrick grinned at me, amused.

Mr. Schrohtmeier continued with the lesson unperturbed. Math.

As if he had never been interrupted.

He was not deterred by a few laughing students.

Mr. Schrohtmeier was now 60 years old. He consistently wore a suit and tie, always neglecting his gray hair. They always looked as if he had just gotten up. Sometimes, when his wife fell into the Christmas baking mania, he brought cookies for the entire class.

I had arrived at my place in the meantime. Without tripping over the shoelace! HA!

Penelope grinned at me cheerfully while tears ran down her cheeks. She was one of those people who started crying when she laughed. I looked at her suspiciously and sat down next to her. "What?"

"Nelly!" she whispered softly, "Oh Nelly!" She was still laughing.

"What? Tell me!" I grimaced. "Why are you laughing?"

Penelope shook her head. "Sorry. Nelly, you forgot your brush in your hair! Well, half the brush. You just look... um... impressive!" She clapped her hands happily and burst into very loud, resounding laughter.

Mr. Schrohtmeier did not react.

When Penelope laughed, her dark blue eyes began to shine. A beautiful sight.

Penelope was an enviably pretty person.

Big eyes, dark brown, thick, silky shiny hair, gentle facial features, a perfect figure...

She never left the house without her pink headband. The headband was almost her trademark.

Unfortunately, the laughter of this beauty goddess turned against me. And the laughter of the others also became louder, so that Mr. Schrotmeier was tempted to actually call the class to order.

It didn't do much, but he didn't care.

"What?" I touched my head in surprise and indeed: my brush was enthroned in the middle of my head. Half of my brush. It hadn't fallen to the floor. Well, only a part.

Desperately, I tried to pull out the broken brush head, but it didn't work. The brush was stuck! But I didn't want to admit defeat just like that. No! I didn't want to be the laughing stock of the city all day long! More and more desperately, I tried violence.

Finally, I screamed and tipped over with the chair.

There I lay now.

Beaten by an unruly brush. Humiliated to the bone. The brush had won. Triumphantly, it was still stuck in my felt mat. And all this in the middle of math class.

Mr. Schrohtmeier had detached himself from the table and was now bending over with laughter.

Like everyone else.

But it was about to get worse:  

Penelope bent over my hair, brooding. "Hm. I'm sorry. There is nothing to be done about it. We have to cut it out of your hair!"

"WHAT? Cut it out? You can't do that!" I protested in horror and let Penelope help me up. Inwardly, I already imagined what I would look like afterwards. Long matted hair and a magnificent short haircut right in the middle. "Oh no. I won't go along with that!"

"Nelly." Mr. Schrotmeier had the decency to look pitying. "Go to the bathroom and get your hair in order. You distract the class. Penelope can accompany you." He cleared his throat and then turned to the entire class. "Enough laughter. It's enough. Math! Math and why you're ruining your life if you don't FINALLY pay attention."

Penelope shook her head sympathetically and tugged at the ominous hairbrush, then reached for her cosmetic bag. "Come."

"You poor girl!" Patrick leaned calmly with his chair against my table. "You'll probably have to be shaved!" He winked at me with a sneering smile.

My crush on him was long gone...

Idiot.

I tried to ignore him.

"Come," Penelope repeated, reaching for my hand.

Sina giggled happily. "Penelope? Please cut everything off! How about a bald head?"

"Quiet!" shouted Mr. Schrotmeier. "Silent work for the rest of the lesson. The tasks are on the board. The rest is homework. Nelly? Penelope? You don't have to catch up on the tasks later. You are dismissed for the rest of the hour. There are only a few minutes left anyway."

"Thank you," I murmured and followed Penelope out of the classroom to one of the small bathrooms that were on each floor. One for girls, one for boys, each with two sinks and two toilet stalls.

"There's no other way!" said Penelope determinedly and waved her pink nail scissors around in front of my nose. "It won't be pretty. But I'm doing my best."

"What the heck. I can't look any worse anyway!"

Penelope smiled at me encouragingly. You're very cute!" Starting with these words, she began to cut her way through my felt mat.

A few seconds later, she held the damn brush in her hands. "Operation finished. Patient satisfied," she warbled.

I looked at the brush tiredly. "Patient satisfied? Patient ugly!" I grumbled. Penelope laughed. "Nonsense. All we have to do is get your hair under control, and the frog will become a princess! But with these scissors, it won't work." She waved her nail scissors around. "Not precise enough!"

I pushed her lightly and shook my abused head.

Disgruntled, I looked in the mirror. "A princess with a revolutionary hairstyle. Short in the middle and long on the outside."

"You're exaggerating! It’s hardly visible!"

"Really?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes. You can cover it up. As soon as we comb your hair!" Again she clapped her hands with joy. A habit that I found strange at first, but now I was used to it. "I'll make you a high bun!"

I narrowed my eyes in annoyance. "Combing? Obviously, my hair is uncombable!"

Penelope looked at me closely.

"I don't think so. You just haven't had any luck so far!" she insisted confidently.

"Of course you think so. Your hair is easy to care for!" I objected.

And I was right. At least partially. Penelope didn't get all my hair combed. Some combed strands were now sticking out. Finally, the hobby hairdresser gave up and covered up the disaster with a messy bun that looked better than I had thought.

"And what should I do now?" I scratched my head helplessly.

"Cut it off completely?" Penelope tapped her fingers on the sink. The mirror had a slight crack.

"Cut it off completely...", I echoed softly. Off to the hairdresser, I trust.

"Wonderful! Choose something modern, cheeky, adore your head, will you?" Penelope nodded. "Come on. We have to go to the next lesson."