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That Girl

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I wonder what it’s like to be “that girl.” The girl at the top of the social food chain. The girl who seems to have everything: clothes, makeup, friends, and boys. The girl who sits surrounded by people at a lunch table, just laughing and having a good time.

Is that girl truly happy? Or is her happiness just an act? When she goes home, does it all go away and does she become a normal girl, just like me? I wonder if she lies in bed before she goes to sleep and is able to feel proud of what she did that day. Or is she stressed because she has to keep up her image, and make sure that nobody can see past it?

What about her makeup? Sure, I love makeup, but I don’t wear it like she does. I don’t wear a mask of makeup, clouding my real beauty. Does she wear the makeup to bring out her beauty like I’ve been taught? Or is it to make her feel pretty; is her confidence an act? Maybe it’s just to fit in and be like everyone else. She truly doesn’t want to wear makeup like that, who would?

And all of her friends? What if one day, she were to magically become unpopular? How many of the people she hangs out with would be her real friends and stick with her? Or would she have to search for completely new friends, because everybody just used her?

I don’t want to be that girl. Because I know that she isn’t what she seems to be. She is hiding something. Everything is just a show.

I know this all because I was “that girl.” I was not happy in the least, and now that I’m done I can think about why I hated it. I pray for my successor every night. I pray that she sees who she actually is. I pray that she sees that she doesn’t want to be “that girl.”





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