or when the words are incorrect, but they still hurt.
"i can't wait to move up to a higher-level choir next year," i mumbled to my mom. we were headed home from day one of the county honor choir. i was exhausted. "i really hate being in the intermediate choir."
"how come?"
"because—"
"you think you're better than everyone else?"
i said nothing. i was too taken aback. i started to stare out the window, and did not try to keep the tears from falling for too long. only the stars outside the car window would see.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
