The Ultimate Stereotype This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

I sit down and place my Mountain Dew on the table. A group of people grabs my attention when my eyes drift towards the window, full of miniscule raindrops. It isn’t the two popular girls that I look at. It’s the girl who seems so out of place. Just seeing a bit of her, I think about myself and my heart reaches out.

She’s looking down at her drink and I pull out my trusty mini-notebook from my right jeans pocket and my pen clipped to the other. I observe how the populars treat her like a piece of rubbish. I’m finding common ground and I haven’t said one word to her. She looks over to her “friends” and her lips part trying to say something but noticing how distracted they are, she doesn’t even make an attempt.

She seems like a pretty optimistic person. I remember how much the feelings of loneliness and being ignored hurt. How it cut my insides. Though I probably had the same expression as she does. That fake, happy-go-lucky expression. Then I realized that she was probably being hurt on the inside, too.

My pen races along the small three-inch page, jotting observations on their looks, their expressions, and how they treat each other. The pen leaves a disorganized trail of sky blue ink. Then I noticed how the “leader” popular looks like the lonely girl: the same nose, the same eyes, the same structure. There’s a man sitting at a nearby table, watching them, occasionally saying something to them. Then it hits me. That’s their dad. They’re sisters! How can that be? I am awestruck. It’s the ultimate…. I don’t know… stereotype? There have only been stories about this kind of thing. Like having sisters or twins who are the complete opposite of each other. But this is totally different. It’s real. And I’m witnessing it. Right now.

Oops. I think I zoned out for a bit. Time for a refill. When I come back to the table, I set my cup down, silently and look intently in their direction. Still gushing over useless text messages, I see. Observing the other me, I notice her big glasses and bobbed haircut. It looks like she just got out of P.E. She’s wearing a large blue shirt with matching basketball shorts that are swaying around her chicken legs as she walks around the pizza place aimlessly. Her large tennis shoes clomp around with her clumsy feet and knee high socks balled around her ankles. The populars are still huddled in the corner and the leader flips her dark hair over her shoulder, slightly moving the small blue bow resting atop her head. The other one giggles with her eyes shut tight, revealing the blue eyeshadow, matching her leader. The shine of their lip-gloss goes right into my eyes. What are they trying to do, blind me!?

They almost seem flustered when Miss Lonely comes back. I see her pull out a cell phone and mess around on it. Her sister snaps and claps in her face to get her attention, then gives her an empty hand, awaiting the phone. I was taken back. How rude! You aren’t supposed to do that to people! For goodness sake, she isn’t a zoo animal. I felt blood rush to my face in anger. Ripping another bite out of my pizza, I look down in shock.

Next thing I know, Little Miss Bossy points at her father and starts yelling. How conceited! She huffs and puffs and crosses her jacketed arms. Well, somebody isn’t getting what she wants. Sheesh. Not to mention she’s making a fool of herself in public. He’s just taking it!? Is this supposed to be normal? Her follower and sister both don’t seem bothered at all, either. I can feel my eyes widen, at this point, not caring if anyone sees me.

Moments later, they get up and head out. I then look down at my notebook and think to myself. I’ve got my story.





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