I need to stop crying. It keeps ruining my make-up. That stuff’s expensive. Great, now the saltwater drops are dripping onto my new shirt, causing grey splotches on it. Why do I keep blowing my mother’s and my money on certain things? I’ve never really thought about it. I guess it’s all about fitting in.
I go to school in a rich city. The parking lots of my school are filled with BMWs, Mustangs, Cadillacs, and even a Porsche or two. The girls are dressed in two- hundred dollar shirts and jeans, while guys have Under Armor or Nike on from head to toe. I don’t belong here. I’m from a po-dunk town. My mom just decided to randomly get married to a guy I’ve known for a little over a year.
See, I get the clothes I get to fit in. I don’t want people to gossip about me. Roll their eyes and bee-line around me. To stay alive, you have to be a lemming. Follow what the alpha girl and guy do, or else the great drama cloud will get you.
I am an independent person, of course. But I adapt to my surroundings. I’m a quiet, apprehensive girl. I don’t want to be the teacher’s pet or class loud mouth if I’m going to get shunned by my clique. I’ve worked too hard for it.
I am technically in the “popular” girls circle. But it took almost two whole years to get there. I’ve had to go from brain to bubbly, even though I know that I’m smarter than all these jerks at the lunch table. It’s basically a game of survival, even though our little clique is just a big lie with girls and guys who will stab your back at any second for a chance to kick you out.
But there are a couple of my really, really close friends that know the real me. The sarcastic, funny, smart me. Not the dubbed down one.
I do have a good friend. He’s a guy. He and I walk home together. Total proof of how all of the drama just sucks you in. Every day for the past two weeks, he’d complained about his girlfriend. She’s a total fake, and is very popular at my school. I’d always tell him she’s not worth it, because you’re getting hurt. She was just going out with her because he knew the real her too. Not the snob who has a four hundred dollar purse. Now they’ve broken up, and it’s apparently my fault because I’m his best friend. He doesn’t want her to freak out and start spreading rumors about him and me. I just roll my eyes and wonder. Why go that low? Are you somehow jealous of my dirty, old sneakers and old phone?
He and I are the only true normal ones in our grade. But, I guess no one really is normal in high school.