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Life is like a symphony to me. Every event, moment, and heart-beat in my life is like a musical note. Put it all together, and a song would be played. I’m not particularly sure why I observe life like this. Maybe it’s because my cousin, Jordan, is a band geek. He does have what it takes to be popular, don’t get me wrong. If only he would just straighten his full-blown hair, got rid of those grandpa glasses, and let his jeans loose instead of always pulling them ridiculously high above his belly button, then he would be considered decent-looking. If he just stopped hanging out with those chess geeks, and instead went to social events. If he were to do all that, he would be in the same position as I am: popularity.

Now, let me clear things up here. Just because I’m popular, does not mean I only hang out with only the popular crowd. Just so you know, I have plenty of friends outside my clique. I just don’t have time to hang out with them, that’s all. If I had time, I would be able to hang out with Jordan (band geek), Veronica (Goth), Christi (emo), Ricky (jock), Brittney (prep), Natalie (punk), Paul (skater), Victor (drama person), Erika (choir person), Jason (gangster), Stella (tomboy), Ted (grade-repeater), Fiona (foreigner), and Jenna (the wannabe). These are many people of different backgrounds. Honestly, these people really are my friends; I just can’t hang with them since I’m always busy.

Now I can’t help labeling people. That’s just how high school is and there’s nothing we can do about it. If someone doesn’t like their label, then why would they act out their part? That’s just how life rolls.

As I combed my golden shoulder-length silky hair, Jasmine, my 12-year-old little sister (loner), barged into the mostly-pearl-white-except-for-the-green-bathtub-and-towels bathroom. Before Jasmine entered, the room had the scent of a clear, minty air freshener. That is, before she entered, carrying an odorous stench of manure. Ugh.

“Scarlett! There you are!” Her squeaky high pitched voice shouted.

“What is it that you want, little brat?” I calmly replied as I applied some mascara. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Does this ring a bell, dear sister?” Jasmine exaggerated, holding her tiny puma stuffed animal by the tail. I glanced at its tiny beady eyes, its soft white mouth, and its tan colored fur. It was suppose to be a mint conditioned beanie baby. That is, until now. It was completely covered with purple nail polish.

“What about it?” I began to grow bored with whatever “game” she was trying to play. I smoothed on some acne –remover. I had some major blemishes, but that was alright. That’s my only imperfection. Besides, I planned on getting some skin cream after school.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Scar!” Jasmine screeched. “This is your fault!!!!”

“OK, I admit I had something to do with that,” I glanced at Jasmine as I spoke. I gave her the once-over: long straight sun bleached hair, black tennis shoes, gray shorts, and a teal Mickey-mouse t-shirt. She never wore make-up, not even to a social event. Pathetic. “But, honestly, Jas. You need to grow up. I have given up on my toys when I turned 9, after all. Besides, you sabotaged my stuff too.”

“Ok, just because that one time I accidently spilled O.J. on your 9th grade party dress,” Jasmine countered, snatching away my curling iron. “That doesn’t mean I ‘sabotaged’ your stuff! O.J. is easy to wash out! On the other hand, no one can get nail polish out of my Mr. Patty-Cakes.”

“Give me back my curling iron!” I snapped as I reached for it. Every time I was an inch close to touching its handle, Jasmine reached it farther.

“No!” Jasmine held it above her tiny head now. She was pretty tall for a kid. “Not unless you apologize!”

“Fine, I will apologize…” I’m a pretty stubborn person. So I didn’t mean it at all when those words came out of my mouth.

“Thank you,” My little sister said as she turned away to leave, setting the curling iron down on the counter.

“I apologize… for having such a lousy sister!” With that, I snatched back my curling iron and soaked a hand towel with water (cold water to be precise) and launched it with deadly accuracy.

“Gaaaaaahhh!!!” My sister gaped at her new cashmere gray shorts. “What did you do that for?!!”

“Well, you asked for it! No one takes my stuff,” I glared her down, left hand dripping with the icy cool water. “You got that? ‘Cause if you do that again,” I snatched away her puma. “If you do that again, ‘Mr. Patty-cakes’ is going to deserve more damage than just spilt nail polish.”

Jasmine flinched at the threat, but knowing my sister, she didn’t give up.

“You’ll be sorry…” Jasmine hissed, staring me down. “I’ll get you back when you least expect it.”

“Yeah right,” I rolled my teal green eyes. “What’s so terrible that a 12-year-old can do?” I challenged.

“Hah!” She scoffed. “Scarlett, you’ve been living with me for the past twelve years of your life. Knowing me, you should know what sorts of things I can do.” With that, she re-snatched her beanie baby and took off into the night.

She was right. Of course she was right. There were so many things she’s done, pranks she’s pulled, that are way too many to explain. The things Jasmine had done are even too horrible to talk about it amongst friends.

One time, in the 5th grade, when I was around 11 years-old, I was seriously crushing on Chris Jonson, the hottest basketball player in school. He had beach blond hair, ocean blue eyes that twinkled every time you got a glance at them, and the cutest little dimple at the corner of his jaw. And he asked me out. That was my first date.

At the time, Jasmine was out into the shadows, planning for a way to get back at me for spilling paint all over her addition homework. She followed everywhere I went, with each step her little beady eyes stared down at me. She acted like a shark, ready for its kill. I was scared out of my mind.

Several weeks later, jasmine found a wrinkled piece of paper with hearts all over it and pink crayon words scribbled the words “S. + C. = love!!!” printed in the center of the paper. On the day before my 21st date with Chris, Jasmine went up to the principal of the school and showed him the picture. I was walking over to have lunch with Chris by the swings, when suddenly I heard the intercom say, “I am sorry for this interruption, but there seems to be a missing homework assignment. Someone has written, ‘S plus C equals love.’ Whoever recognizes this, please come to the office immediately.” Suddenly I could hear muffled whispers in the background of the playground. Little girls pointed and giggled at me while little boys whispered and scoffed at my direction.

It was obvious someone started a rumor that I was in love with Chris, and that ‘someone’ had to be no one other than my sister. Ever since then, Chris and I never dated again, but luckily that took me up the road to popularity since I was Chris’ first ever date. Ever since then, I was one of the IT girls. But I’ll never forget the time Jasmine humiliated me like that.

So if an 8-year-old can do such a thing, what can an 11-year-old do to me now? I was too frightened to think of that now, so I ignored that thought and applied my lipgloss and some blush and dressed into my pink plaid button-up shirt and skinny jeans and got ready for my first day back at High School; my 10th grade year.





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