I’m that girl who you notice in the halls, but not enough to say anything to. Every now and then I might strike out with a small piece of individuality, be noticed for a witty comment- become the subject of a nasty remark. But I can just as easily, or even more so, be the invisible one. I can be Anonymous, one of the hundreds of average looking teenage girls who parts her hair too far to the side, puts on too much base and eyeliner, and who wears jackets even when it’s warm outside. I think I’m sort of pretty sometimes, but when people ask, I say I think I’m ugly. Because that’s what everyone else does. I am a walking, talking contradiction. I’m the girl who acts boy crazy just to throw people off- because I’m secretly obsessing over the same guy. Even though he would never like me in that way and he has a girlfriend. Even though he is a thousand miles out of my league. I’m the girl who speaks two languages, buys daring shoes I’d never wear outside the house, and the one who loves to read books. But I hate school, and I suck at Spanish- the second language I speak. I laugh a lot, even if I feel like crying. I say I’m a Christian and that I love God, even though I haven’t been to church in three months. I look upon same-sex relationships with tolerance and acceptance, though at a distance, even though I am fractionally attracted to girls myself. I’m the girl who is scared to admit that I’m in love with a boy whose middle name I don’t know. I’m the girl who dyed her hair black and then rolled her eyes at other people who did it. They were gothic. They were stupid. I just looked better with black hair. I hated girls who wore too much makeup. I was one of them. I didn’t like gossipers. I told myself that what I was saying wasn’t gossip- it was just private information. Time and time again, I’ve become one paradox after another. I wish I was brave. I wish I was different. But instead I’m just That Girl. The one you see everyday- or the one you don’t see. I exist all across America. I make up the masses of high school girls. I provide the blank canvas for the pretty and popular people to stand out against…. I don’t want anyone to see me cry except my friends. I want to sleep all of the time, but I’m not depressed, right? I always want to be around people, but I like being alone. I’m the confused, lonely, irrational one. That’s the girl I am. That’s my definition.
But really, who am I?