mediocrity

There's this girl.
I know, there's always a girl. And she's always exceptionally beautiful. And she always falls in love with a boy who breaks her heart and she grows strong. It's a cliche that I don't believe should ever be broken for the world is in dire need of exceptional beauty.
But this is not a story about unrequited beauty or love. It's just about a girl.
She's five foot, 2 inches tall. 120 pounds. Quite average by any stretch of the imagination; her freckles dance on her crinkled nose as she laughs and her eyes sparkle when she's trying not to. I'm sure she's in someone's chemistry class or geometry period, but she's not in mine. I know her only in the vaguest sense. And that, I think, is a superpower she has - the ability to go unseen. It's a superpower I certainly do not possess. This girl displays only mediocre beauty.
And she didn't fall in love, she merely got her toes wet in it. I watched it happen. I saw the sweaty palms, the nervous glances, the unsure movements as they walked unaware of the world beyond the other.
(A)
If you asked her, she'd say she loved the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he bought gifts he couldn't afford and always knew how to be awkward in the face of stateliness. But she didn't love how he cried. Surely she didn't love him.
But she loved those grins as deeply as any girl ever loved until the very last day of their summer, deep in sighs and raindrops like leaves from the trees. Her heart did not break in any definition of the phrase, but it ached. Oh, it ached with the woe of a thousand sonnets. So she cried, and stupid mistakes were made until the next one came along not long after. And boy, the next one was a keeper for sure.

[At this point in the story, the reader should go back to point (A) and repeat at least three times in order to appreciate the true monotony of modern romance.]