Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Please Don't Ignore Me

Freshly painted nails. Check. Matching bag and shoes. Check. Perfect looking boyfriend. Check. Carrying my 300 calorie lunch. Check. Chocolate pudding down the front of my new, not even in the stores, soft pink sundress. Eh, not so much!

Usually, in this situation, I’d just tell the freak who “accidently” bombed me with their leftovers to go dig a hole, but I can’t this time because the culprit is my sister. Excuse me, step-sister, even further, brand spanking new step-sister. Yes sir, my daddy got hitched to this loner’s momma. Why? “True Love.” I’m convinced it’s myth. Brock, my boyfriend, who’s standing to my right clenching his stomach and doubled over laughing at the freak, has taken one too many football tackles to the head to understand “true love,” if you know what I mean.

So call me a cynic, I've been called much worse. I don’t care. I've seen too many good relationships flushed down the toilet to believe in that fairy-tale again. Mom and Dad. Britney (my sister) and Gunter (her ex). Me and Brock. I mean, the only reason I’m hanging on to him is to ensure I win Homecoming Queen, even though my friends tell me I have it in the bag. In that case, I hope it’s a cute bag, maybe Gucci.

I can see it in her eyes though. The same brokenness reflecting off the golden specks I envy so much. She’s the same shattered girl as me, just wearing a different, strangely dressed form. She’s got a new school, new Dad, new town, house, everything to deal with. But the worst of it is, she has to deal with the monster that I am.

Last weekend, we stayed up most of the night watching Seinfeld reruns while making smoothies and popcorn. She told me about her home, her mom, and her insecurities. And it stinks that we could totally be friends because we would be, the best of friends! But, I care way too much and she cares way too little about what other people think and I cannot give up my popularity. I can’t because then no one will love me, and then I’d really have to give up.
So I regret the words that I whisper to her, aimed like arrows at her heart.
“You will never belong.”
And she scurries off, hiding her tears. Because it’s true. But the truth is, neither will I.




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback