I'm the usual shy girl.
Can't look people in the eye, talks quietly, scared of everything, insecure... I could go on.
On the outside, you see a girl who wants nothing to do with anyone. She's a brunette with dark blue eyes and freckles here and there. She's of medium height and skin color.
Don't get me wrong, I do like to look my best. That's how I blend in, but I am not one who follows crowds. I lead myself. I choose what I like, and I never let my family buy clothes for me.
On the inside, you can see an artist, a writer, and a reader. Along with someone who likes to sing, dance, drift bike and rollerblade. I am a very interesting person. No one knows that though all they see is the plain girl who never talks and is smart.
Unfortunate that they know I'm smart because it draws attention to me and from time to time they want to know the answers to a worksheet I finished ten minutes ago. I tell them of course, just so they'd leave me alone. Not because I want them to like me. I don't expect everyone to like me but I do expect everyone to be honest. I'm fine if they don't like me. It's when they pretend they do.
So I just stay away.
Sophomore year has been in session for six months now, but if you don't count the days we had off, it's technically five months, but it's not important. I am just ready for Senior year already. I really don't want to be here, at this high school especially, anymore.
I was thinking about all these things right now as I half listen to my short and stout history teacher lecture. I see lots of kids asleep and some cursing hour-long classes. I was quietly sketching in my sketchbook when my forty-year-old history teacher started on one of his lectures, he got dramatic and started acting out scenes while telling the "legendary" story. I kept my head down with my ridiculously long hair strewn over my face, covering my tongue that is peeking out of my dry mouth as I concentrate on my drawing.
I mostly draw characters. Ones from my favorite movies or books. Then the other characters are ones I create from my Many Stories Cabinet. It's a cabinet I have at home that my dad made for my growing pile of stories in the corner of my room. My dad and I live alone together. My mother and his wife, died when I was born, which isn't too common nowadays, but it still happens. I help him out a lot since he was raised in one of those homes where the parents never taught their kids how to clean, the only reason I know how is because my mom's mom came over and helped my dad out for a bit since my mom was gone. Then when I was old enough to clean myself, my grandma Rose taught me how to clean, efficiently and with a good attitude. I never complained about cleaning ever since my grandma showed the video about what my house would look like if I didn't clean.
My Aunt Selena, who lives in Chino, California, video calls me and teaches me how to cook a new dish every night. She texts me the ingredients beforehand. And then when she's too busy to teach me I can make a dish I already know. That all started when she came for my middle school graduation and saw that our party food was frozen pizza.
I'm pulled out of my flashback when I hear my teacher assign us homework. He sounded disappointed. I assumed, it was because half the class was asleep. I put away my notebook and sketchbook, stood, and slung my bag over my shoulder.
I loved this backpack. It was a scarlet red color with a black stripe around the whole thing. It had enough pockets for me to forget where I put anything, but I knew the bag like the back of my hand. Plus it was simple enough not to stand out.
I took out my phone and tapped my google play app. I clicked on my Favorites playlist and put my headphones on. I slipped my Galaxy Note 6 into my hoodie pocket. It was my favorite hoodie. It was cyan with different shades of grey around the middle and the sleeves. I wear it almost every day, but I have other favorites in my closet.
