All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Me, Myself, and I
When I got home, Mom was at work (at some agency, I lost interest in her job years ago). Perfect, now I have room to break down.
I slumped onto a kitchen chair in the dining room and broke down into tears. Rubber bands seemed to be around my heart, twisting until they were uncomfortably tight. For a little while I let out a string of swear words, cussing at everyone I knew. It was kind of fun and depressing at the same time.
I pulled myself together after a good twenty minute rant, cry, sulk session. Then I dumped my stuff in my room, deciding to do my homework after dinner, and began puttering around the kitchen for a snack. I settled on another Nutrigrain bar.
There was a knock on the door. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, removing any tell tale signs of crumbs, and stealthily (whatever) eased toward the door. I looked through the ever useful peephole…
Outside was a girl. She must have been my age, lost between sixteen and seventeen, with long and wavy black hair and a round physique. Her face was round, her lips were full, her arms were flabby as well as her legs, her stomach was a roll of fat, and her curves were almost lost in the bulky black sweater she wore.
She blinked slowly from behind her thick black glasses. She played with her fingers and was rubbing her Converse together when I opened the door. Again she blinked slowly up at me. Then she smiled.
“Hi, I’m Chelsea. I’m your new neighbor.”
Shock rippled through me for the briefest of moments.
“Oh, hi. I’m Kristy,” I said mechanically. I blinked a couple of times, then slapped my hand to my forehead. “And I was supposed to bake you guys something. D***, I forgot.” I swore. Mom had said the new neighbors, the ones moving into the yellow house next door, were finally settling in today. She had also made me promise to bake them something, sort of as a house warming party. I swore again for good measure.
“That’s okay,” she said in her slow, quiet voice. “I’m lactose-intolerant.”
“Oh,” I stuttered out. Brilliant vocabulary, Kristy, I thought, annoyed. “Do you want to come inside?” I said, in hopes of repairing any damage.
Chelsea blinked slowly, her smile stretching wider. “Sure, thanks.”
I opened the door wider to let her pass. Her eyes widened beneath her thick glasses.
“Wow,” she whispered, “You have a nice house.”
I looked around as I closed the door. Tile floors, a kind of big foyer, paintings and pictures… sure, it was a kind of nice house. It seemed small on the outside, but on the inside it sprawled all over the place.
“Er, yeah. A lot of remodeling, you know,” I mumbled. I ran a hand through my hair. Oh, c***, my hair! And my clothes and everything! I must look really strange…. Then I looked at her again. Chelsea was far from a Clone. “What school are you going to?” I asked nervously.
“Some public school down the way. I heard everyone there is a complete snob, but I’ll live. How bad could it be?”
She had moved toward the kitchen, still looking around with her round eyes. I followed her, one of my hands now running feverishly through my hair. Stupid habit, I could never get rid of it.
“I go there. It’s pretty bad,” I warned her. She turned to look at me. I looked away, not able to look at her directly. “I mean, I wasn’t always like this,” I added lamely. I waved a hand toward my outfit. She smiled serenely.
“What, were you a Popular?” she asked, and amused glint in her dark eyes.