I have never thought I was normal. I never even considered it. But even in my most horrible days, I never considered trying to even be normal. After all, what is normal but another label bestowed upon the human teenager by society. I never believed in labels, why should I believe in that one?

I lived in a house. For a non-normal teenager, it was a fairly typical house. It was two stories with a good-sized backyard and flowers out front. My mother loved flowers, but I never saw the appeal of getting hot and sweaty just to make something beautiful.

In fact, I did not do any type of sport or activity that involved much more than sitting down. I played three instruments, trumpet, piano, and guitar. Of those three, two were forced upon me. I practiced little, but hey, I had something to hold over non-musicians.

The only activity I really enjoyed was writing. I wrote poems, short stories, I roleplayed with the people who could stand my weirdness, and I read every book I could get my hands on. After all, what is a good writer but a good reader who uses what they've learned?

Few people read my work and when they did I could barely tel if they actually enjoyed it. So I kept writing and hoping that at one point I would receive due credit for my "talent". I never thought it would come from the person it did.

As a quiet person who listened more than talked, I was always more or less ignored. Occasionally I tried to speak to someone who didn't know me. They, of course, winded up in a new group of friends without me. This happened several times before I decided to stop my efforts at friendship.

One day as I sat in English class, though, I found myself confronted with an entirely new situation, someone was actually reaching out to me. The boy had sat in class with me as silent as can be all year. I don't know what made that day any different from the rest, but it was.

"Um hey, isn't your name Clare?" he said tapping me on the shoulder from where he sat behind me.

I turned around and stared at him. He squirmed uncomfortably.

I realized my mouth had fallen open. I slammed it shut and asked confused, "Yes. Why do you care?" I did not mean it in a cruel or rude way, I was truly curious. He looked a bit shocked.

"Uh I was just wondering. You've sat there all year and I've never said a word to you."

I raised an eyebrow, "Well then. I guess this requires me to ask your name."

"My name is Jonathan, you can call me Jace." he said a little too quickly.

I nodded slowly, "Well, nice to meet you Jace."

I turned around in my seat again, glad to see the teacher hadn't noticed anything. I felt a tap on my shoulder again.

"Yes?"

"Can I read your notebook?" Jace asked.

I stared at him with wide eyes, "My notebook? W-Why?"

Jace smiled a little, "Because you write in it everyday, I want to see what you've written."

My notebook. The same one I had carried around since fifth grade. The one that contained everything about me and everything i had written. The window into my soul.

"No." I said very quickly and spun around.

I felt another tap on my shoulder.

"Why not?" Jace was looking at me very seriously now.

"Because I don't want you to read it." I said in a small voice.

I was staring straight ahead.

"Clare," I winced. "Please let me read your notebook."

I caved. I didn't want to but I did. I slowly opened my bag and pulled it out. Jace took it slowly, with reverence. The bell rung just at that moment and became my favorite inanimate object of the day.

I jumped out of my seat and left Jace staring down at a notebook, my notebook, containing all that made me who I was.

I didn't see him for the rest of the day, for that I was eternally grateful. But at the very end of school, when I was walking to my locker, I saw him standing next to it holding my notebook. I turned quickly and started walking away, but Jace ran up behind me. "

"I finished it."

I stopped walking, staring at the floor.

"It was the most amazing thing I have ever read."

I was confused, what did he mean? It showed my flaws, my weirdness. He lifted my chin up to I could see his face which was suddenly very close to mine.

"Don't hide who you are just because you think someone won't like it. You are more beautiful than you think."

With that, Jace stepped back and handed me my notebook. I took it and stared at the faded cover.

"See tomorrow, Clare." Jace called to me as he walked away.

I looked up at him. "Yeah, see you tomorrow," I said to myself.