When I look into the mirror there is a young girl starring right back at me. She moves her hand to her nose and plays with it trying to adjust the imperfections, just as I do. When she moves her blush brush the powder flies over her check to rest in the same spot as mine does. Her hair is always a mess, frizzy and curly. Her face oily and pimply, it looks like a pizza, some would say or more like miniature volcanoes ready to explode their doom upon her face. She sings with the radio jumping in nothing but a bra and a thong. Which is unflattering since her figure is not like what you would find in the latest Cosmo Girl Model. Her breasts are the same size as mine. I wonder if she gets ridiculed like me because she’s the only one in her grade with a bra size bigger than a C. When I stare into the mirror I see a stranger. I’m told it’s a reflection of me. Me. Who am I? Am I that girl in the mirror or am I that fun girl who jumps around to the next song on the CD. I see myself as I feel. I feel different, special, pretty, and sad. Sad that my outward appearance or that stranger is judge more than who I am. I guess we are all strangers to the person who looks back at us in the mirror. We are delusional in thinking what we need to be. What we need to wear and how we can fit in. I am me, not the girl in the mirror and not the stereotypical girl. True, I am that girl in the mirror but I am so much more.