It is five-thirty in the morning.
Far too early to be up,
But I have to study.
I have to memorize the stupid information.
I have to.
If I don’t, the others will laugh because of my bad grade.
It will still be much better than theirs,
But why should that mean that they can’t laugh?
The truth is,
It should.
But it doesn’t.
Not for me, at least.
Not when I walk through the tall doors into
My high school.
Not when I am sitting in the front of honors pre-calculus,
Taking notes in my meticulous handwriting,
More mature at 13 than they are at 17, and
Showing more initiative than they will
In their entire lives.
And that is probably the reason why they hate me so.
I don’t belong.
I don’t belong, yet here I am.
Here I am, besting them at every exercise of the mind.
Here I am, top in a class of gifted 17-year-olds
Without trying too hard.
Here I am, having to prove myself
every minute of my existence.
Here I am, with my guard up all of the time.
Here I am, my long hair obscuring my face
So they can’t see my miserable eyes.
Here I am, aiming for a perfect score on the ACT.
Here I am, pushing myself so that
I can get into MIT
And leave them behind.
Far, far behind.
One day, my name will be in the newspapers
And all they will be able to do is
Read how I will go down in history.
And they will remember me
As that really smart girl who they never could beat
On a test.
But they will never know how hard I worked
To make sure they never did.