My Relationship With a Covergirl Model

It wasn’t easy to have a breezy whirlwind romance with someone so beautiful


Whatever you’re thinking she was, she wasn’t. She was not some white stick-thin Barbie doll, she had full features and curves. She was not vapid and materialistic because she didn’t grow up with much. She was not someone who felt like a supermodel, she dealt with the same insecurities I have. Most importantly, however, she was not mine.

That last fact came as a surprise to me when she broke it off. If I had been a little different I might have been able to remove that from the list. That would have also made the title present tense, but I’m starting to realize I appreciated the relationship more after it ended. It was as if I loaned her for 11 of the most significant months of my life. I had believed at the time we would actually pull through, high school sweethearts and all that, but alas I am another statistic.

She was her own person, and I needed to be told the high school dance member would want a lot more excitement than a consistently boring routine. I want no pity; I fell into and out of the relationship with the 5 foot 4 inch beauty. It was started over a text and it ended with a text saying that we needed to talk. She had eyes that danced almost as well as she could and beautiful long hair that she always put in a bun. This was paired with a fragile smile that was so fleeting that it could instantly turn into a pout or an uncomfortable frown.

There’s a reason they chose her to be a teen model.

Easy, Breezy, Beautiful. Covergirl.

She was two out of those three, and easy wasn’t one of them. Nothing came easy in her life. Her childhood was one she did not want to remember and our parting is something neither of us can forget.

It’s hard to write this. Not because its painful or anything like that, but because I know she would reject it wholly. She never felt like a model.

She was never given the chance. Her tape for Covergirl was retconned before it ever got to air by her mother. You might think that’s the sad part, that her mother took her out of it, but the real sad part is that I know in my heart that a large part of her agrees with the decision.

The only thing left in her of Covergirl was the urge to correct me if I ever messed up the tagline. She would get upset in the cutest way over a buffed word that I would mess up the line on purpose just to hear her correct me. She said it with power. With confidence. The kind of confidence I only saw her feel in herself when she wore “a face” of cosmetics.

She is model material without cosmetics, but the small bits of acne and red spots she would get from the sun made her think she needed her makeup courage.

She looked good in makeup too, but that’s not the point. I didn’t need her “face” to love her. I just needed a text.

And on Oct 27 of 2016, I got a text that would change my life for the next 11 months. Something to the tune of:

“Hey this is Feleena from Monty’s class. Do you know what the HW was?”

Clearly marriage material, need I go on?

Only, I didn’t have “Monty” for English, so the first thing I decided to do was ask her out — I mean I texted two people for the homework.

One “friend” ignored me, and the other wasn’t going to do the homework anyway, but eventually got me the answer. Throughout the process and updates on getting the homework assignment, I texted Feleena. It became a lot more than asking for homework as we got to know each other.

But a text was not my first interaction with her. I did not know it at the time, but she would cross paths with me twice before these texts.

In a junior year AP European history class, two people would always rush by me back and forth — fast enough to disrupt my hair. I paid them no mind, but that was my future love randomly whizzing by to touch my hair.

Earlier than that, she might’ve thought I was gay.

One morning when I was talking with my best friend from elementary school Adrian, who she once texted as “Adrain” through my phone, I noticed a group of people watching me. Every now and then I’d look back to the discussion our mutual friend was starting, but I kept eyeing the group. They in turn smiled, laughed and waved.

Eventually, a guy comes over to tell us that my future love liked me. I looked in the direction of the group and I saw laughter. I can’t quite remember if she was embarrassed or who “she” was. My vision was and still is, too poor to discern far away things.

But after this guy said what he had to, I stood there shocked. Mister Drain was not shocked and instantly said something to the effect of “he’s mine” and I was too flabbergasted to say anything as the guy left. Now everybody was laughing as I lost whatever could have happened between us sooner.

She also could have looked me up through the front office directory, as she was an office aide, but she told me that would be cheating. So I am left to believe it was fate that it happened senior year.

There’s a lot more to tell about our relationship (between Feleena and myself, not Adrian and myself), but there was one thing she gave me that no one else could.


On our first date, she was petrified of touch. She later told me why, but that would be her story to tell, not mine. After walking her home, I gave her a big hug outside her house before seeing her off.

Yes, our first date was eating at Wendy’s and then shopping at Target afterwards. I’m clearly trying for the white trash black belt, and I may still be in the running.

I figured if I kissed her she would have exploded because she shook like a convict in my arms. Her face was happy, but her body shook worse than it should have at that temperature. This was more than a cold shiver, and it even lasted after the hug.

After some more time together, she eventually let me hold her without shaking. She would not accept hugs from friends, but she had actually opened up to my touch. That still means the world to me.

I may never see her again in my life, despite feeling it was fate that we ever found each other, but I can die today knowing that someone I cared about was able to let me in.

While the Covergirl model I love didn’t feel the same after 11 months of foundation, it’s not a loss.

I was able to get behind the dancer’s mascara.

Disclaimer: Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.