One last Dance

Intro

My name is not Alexandra. Not in the 'Hi, are you Spanish?' way, but in the 'Hi, so why's your name not Alexandra?' way.

My real name has nothing to do with teen immaturity or what people nowadays call CB.com (Crying Bitch.com). It has nothing at all to do with the fact that I'm coming to eighteen years of age and my family is planning to move to Canada.

It has nothing to do with the fact I have three sisters, two of whom are sophomores and one who is just coming out of her milk-teeth fiasco.

It also has nothing to do with the fact that I'm in my mid-summer vacation and that I've never wanted Josh, the boy next door, from thinking I adore him- which sounds strange- because:

A) I wear round-spectacles.

B) I love iced-banana juice.

C) I am basically a well-rounded socially inept girl who loves reading books than watching all the new K-pop hotties combined.

Josh is a grade higher than me in my virtual High School. Call it Gunn High School. He's light years away from being my match- in terms of beauty- which sounds less ridiculous and more realistic, since my premonition is that Josh is my dream-match.

My bride.

Sounds idiotic, right? Just a premonition anyway.

My real name is Jessica Is Not A Bitch aka Jessica INAB. I reversed the 'I' in my diary to make it become Jessica NABI (Jessica Not A Bitch Is).

Ridiculous of course.

So I replaced my thinking cap with the creative one. And alas!

Anne Frank Is A Bitch... (nah)

I Love Biebs.....(nah)

Crazy Bitch Here......(nah times a million)

Time for Adventure.....(kinda cool but nah..)

Creature of the Night ..(no way)

Personal Goddess.....(uhm?)

I wanted something cool. Something you put in your diary and when it's discovered say, twenty years later, someone looks at the name and goes, "Wow, this stuff is deep."

Some cool nickname. Something to remember myself by, or to be remembered for, anyways.

So, after crossing out a few lines from the rough book and realizing I still had like these huge chunks I'd to look through, I decided to drop the whole thing.

Perhaps a few ideas would pop into memory- the power of the subconscious mind, or whatever they call it.

Remember this is the time to be cool, it's summer baby. Some obnoxious reason snitched at the back of my mind. My father is an accountant, and sorry for the late introduction, but his job sucks.

It sucks because he comes back on Friday and says he'll be having a meeting at noon the next day, and to me that sucks. Because, usually, the next day is Saturday, and that's usually when all the kids do all the cool stuff with their parents.

That's when you go to the mall, and shop through your favorite ice-cream parlor. But no, Saturday is not an ice-cream parlor day. It's dad's day.

Dad's day of the meeting at noon.

We don't complain however, me and Liz, my little sister I told you about. When not busy, he's filling in the little time he can get with us. One Sunday, he brought us a huge Turkey breast, the biggest I'd ever seen anyway.

We ketchup-ed the thing up, and enjoyed to our utmost. No complaints.

Clare and Joan my two elder sisters are always face-timing now and again, always reminding us to be good girls, lest we become the evil witch in Wizard of Oz i.e We shouldn't annoy dad: also i.e We should remember that good girls win big blue berry sweets.