"Eleanor! It's time for school, we're late." I heard my mom say.
I groaned and hopped out of bed, tripping over clothes in the process and falling on my face.
"What was that loud thump?" My mom asked. "You didn't break my Angels, I hope." My mom has a weird collection of porcelain angel doll figurines.
"Nope, just my face." I commented as I pulled myself off the ground.
"Oh, good," My mom said.
I raised my brows, but didn't question her rudeness. Not today, anyway.
I pulled on a light gray cardigan, along with a light pink tank, some dark wash jeggings, and a pair of white crochet TOMS. I quickly straightened my hair and threw on a dab of foundation and some mascara.
I grabbed my car keys off the bedside table, along with my binder and ran out the door.
As soon as I got in my car and cranked up the engine, my favorite artist, Rihanna's "Stay" blasted through my speakers.
"Funny your the broken one, but I'm the only one who needed saving...'cause when you never see the light, it's hard to know which one of us is caving." I sang very loudly. Oh well, I'm the only one in the car anyway.
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Finally, I pulled up to school, or as I like to call it; hell.
I looked over and saw the preps laughing in the parking lot. Most likely laughing at jokes they made about people they don't like...which is pretty much everyone. I don't even think they like themselves honestly.
The preps are what us "weird kids" call the popular kids, mostly the girls who wear nothing but Hollister and Abercrombie, Vera Bradley wristlets or Victoria's Secret backpacks, five pounds of makeup, and pin straight highlighted hair.
The guys are more defined as...well, assholes. Thier more North Face jackets, lanyards hanging out of their pocket, and tight fitting muscle shirts. In my opinion, there's only three guys I find attractive in my whole school, but just in looks. In personality, there extremely ugly.
As I exit my car, I notice some of the assholes looking at me. Just keep walking. Just keep walking. I chanted to myself, hoping it would help.
"Oh, great. She's here."
"She's so ugly."
"Why doesn't she just kill herself already?"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is just the beginning of what I deal with everyday.
YOU ARE READING
The Eleanor Diaries
Teen FictionA girl named Eleanor Sinclair is diagnosed with depression, social anxiety, purging, and goes through self-harm and panic attacks. She's trying to live out her teenage life as normal as she can.
