It’s funny how the deepest, most insightful girl acts so shallow. How do I know this? Because my girlfriend was like that. I’ll be truthful; I’ve always liked the hot, shallow girls. I liked how stupid they were. I could just say that they’re pretty and different from other girls, and soon enough, I’d be making out with them. And I know what you’re thinking, “What a shallow jerk,” and maybe I am. I’m not looking for love or anything, just a good time, soft lips. With me, a girl never lasts longer than a month.

It’s just how I am with most girls. But not this one. I’d just broken up with my most recent girlfriend, Kara, who was blonde and obsessed with makeup and suntans, when she’d caught my eye. She had sleek, wavy, chocolate colored hair with red highlights, and pretty, multicolored eyes, brown around the pupil and greenish-blue on the outside. She was a little on the tall side, very curvy, and a few pounds overweight. But what I really saw was her soft, full, red lips. Amazing. I had to kiss them.

So, of course, I approached her. She was looking at me warily when I introduced myself, as if she was afraid I was going to make fun of her. But it didn’t take long for her loosen up. They never do.

Her name was Juliet. She was smart, that was obvious, but not the smartest I’d ever dated, sarcastic, and kind of funny, in a subtle way. She wasn’t really anything special. She seemed just as shallow and ignorant as the other girls. The only thing that possibly set her apart was that she had an odd way of smiling where she didn’t show her teeth. Maybe she once had braces, and it was a habit.

It wasn’t long before I asked her out. She smiled, showing her teeth that time, and, of course, said yes.

The date was average. A movie in quaint little Georgetown, then ice cream and a walk around the park. I was hoping for a kiss, of course, as that was the reason for my asking her out, but I didn’t get one, to my obvious disappointment. She seemed nervous. Altogether, very, very average.

I went on another date with her the next week, this time to an amusement park. She screamed so loudly on a roller coaster that I’d made fun of her and said, “You could break a glass with that scream. I think my ears are bleeding,” with a smirk. She scowled and came closer to say, “Well at least I don’t yelp like—” and that was when I kissed her. Her lips softened after a moment under mine. Incredible. Much, much better than expected. I felt something, too, something in my chest or something, but I dismissed it, which I now know was extremely stupid.

A few more weeks went by like that, with the one-date-a-week thing, and it was about the time when I normally moved on. At the time, there was no reason for me to stay with this girl. I’d kissed her soft lips enough for satisfaction. I didn’t really think about the reason why much. Or the aftermath.

I met her at school the next morning. She stared when she saw me. No smile or wave or “Hey, Nick.” I remember every word of the conversation that followed.

“T’sup, Juliet?” I asked.

“You’ve been using me, haven’t you, Nick?” She’d said, looking at the ground. “You used me just to kiss me, and now you’re done with me.” Those multicolored eyes filled with tears. I remember I had a sudden urge to wipe them away, which was weird. It wasn’t the first time I’ve dealt with waterworks.

But how could she know? “That’s not true,” I said, a few moments too late.

“Don’t lie to me.” Multicolored eyes again. “I see that look in your eyes.” My eyes? What? “You know what?” The tears were gone then. “I’m breaking up with you. I don’t need you.”

Then she turned and walked away. I stared at the place where she’d been standing. I couldn’t believe she’d just…left. Just like that. I felt heavy. Like my bones had turned into rock or something.

When I got home, that heavy feeling still hadn’t gone away. I wondered why I was so sad. So I got dumped. Who cares? Not me, right? Right?


But I did care. That was when I realized that she wasn't just another girl.

So, I called her. No answer. Again. No answer. I left a voicemail: “I’m sorry. You’re right, Juliet. Or at least…you were. But, um, I hadn’t really thought about…well, I did, but I didn’t expect—” dial tone.

The next day at school, she wouldn’t look at me. I waited by her locker; she saw me and turned around. I sat next to her at lunch. She got up and moved.

No. No. That’s what I was thinking. This can’t be happening. You’re probably thinking, “He got what he deserved.” And, well, I did. I figured this was how all those other girls felt, rejected and empty. It made me feel worse.

I actually cried that night.

Later, I asked myself, why is she different? Why is she the only one I actually cared about? She didn’t really act that different, she was just as giggly and shallow, wasn’t she?

I figured out that it was because she knew. She figured me out. She’d seen it in my eyes. I looked at my eyes in a mirror, but there wasn’t anything in their deep blues that could reveal what I was thinking. Not that I could see. And how could she even see my eyes? My hair always falls into them. So I decided it wasn’t really my eyes. It was her, her and her multicolored eyes, that had figured me out.

Deep. She was deep, inside her mind, even though she acted shallow. She was special. She was different. She was the only girl I ever really cared about.