Not so popular

Chapter one

I'm not popular. Never have been. But I'm okay with it. I like sneaking in the background, being unnoticed. That way I can observe. And no, not in a stalker way. but haven't you ever looked at someone and thought to yourself "I wonder why they do that" or "I wonder why they're like that" well I like to observe someone enough to come up with a theory.... my therapist calls me "the observer" which I guess fits me pretty well. as you can tell I'm not exactly normal. and no I don't mean it in that way where the girl ends up saying "im not like all the other girls... I'm different" no. I mean I'm different. Mentally different. I have problems, and people tell me I should be enormously depressed. But I'm not. I have a good life compared to what people have to go through. I just don't think I should really freak out over petty drama in my life. sure if I think about certain things... it makes me sad. but that's why I try not to think about it.
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"Sometimes you gotta bleed to know
That your alive and have a soul
But it takes someone to come around
To show you how
She's the tear in my heart
I'm alive
She's the tear in my heart"

Oh joy. Morning. I turn off my alarm I set to sing tear in my heart// twenty one pilot, I did this to experiment my hypothesis, playing music you love to wake you up in the morning will make you a better morning person. well, I was wrong. In fact it just kinda made the song a little annoying. But I must get up because I sure as hell don't want to hear a mouth full from my mother then later from my sister. I get up, and head to my closet, I'm not going to start going on about how huge my closet is and how huge and beautiful my house is , because... well it's not. its one story, I don't have a pool, my laundry room is in my kitchen, and my closet is about two feet wide and it only goes in about one foot. I don't mind though, o don't really need to have a mansion as a home. This is good enough for me. I go into the closet and grab something that won't grab too much attention. but I still wanna look good, I mean why shouldn't I try to feel good about myself. it's not like I'm going to disrespect myself by wearing short booty shorts and a tiny crop top. I just grab a white collared black dress and a black rimmed hat. I don't really care if my hair is straight or curly but since I left it in a braid last night I just un-braided it and let my brunette hair become loose waves. (No that's Lydia in the picture, but her hair is in that style but of course brown.) I grab my cell phone keys and black backpack and don't bother saying goodbye they probably wouldn't hear me anyways. Once I close the door, with a little struggle I head over to my grey chevrolet chevette. no not the best car. But it is a way of transportation that's more then what some kids can say. and sure it's a little beat up and old, but I've grown to love it. I get in and start it up put my tape in, because it doesn't play CDs. all of a sudden the beautiful tune of ultraviolence// Lana Del Rey started playing. I silently sing along as I tap my fingers lightly on the steering wheel. I pull into the school parking lot noticing how everyone slides into a certain clique. but it's not the way they look that makes them join a certain clique. It's them. They dress like it and it's the fact that society has led them to believe that because they dress like that they have to indulge in a friendship between someone of the same look. Well at least that would be my theory. well, off to analyze things now.