Blocks

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I sigh. I’m alone at the lunch table again. What’s happened? The time for being popular and caring about what others think has happened. I know it as I stare grimly down at my greasy pizza with fake white cheese. I glance over and see my best friend or my old best friend. She’s sitting with the “popular people.” I am not.

Of course, she was invited into that crowd. She’s blonde with blue eyes; she’s mostly perfect. She’s someone everyone wants to be. I, on the other hand, have brown limp hair, plain brown eyes, and glasses with the thickest glass money can buy. I am left in her dust.

I look around at the lunch tables. There are countless numbers of groups it seems: the popular crowd, the goths, the nerds, the cheerleaders, and the awkward kids who sit by themselves- me. It reminds me of preschool when we had to sort the blocks into their different colors: red, blue, yellow, and green. What color am I?

Everyone here is a sorted block. We’re left to deal with rejection and station on our own. I think of grade school when where everyone would play together, and it didn’t matter what you wore or who you hung out with. All that mattered was if you were willing to be a friend. We all knew how to play together. Now we don’t.

I won’t give up. I will push through it. I won’t be a one colored block; it’s unacceptable. I will be rainbow. I will be different. I will be me.





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