Behind The Mask

December 3

December 3

I don't believe in love. I don't believe in happy endings. I don't believe in finding the "perfect guy."

All of that, is a lie.

I believe in being the best, and getting the best. As long as you're happy, nothing else matters.

My family's rich. Part of our money's inherited from my dead grandpa. And my dad's the CEO of some big company.

Don't ask me what it is. Even if I knew, or cared, I wouldn't tell you, because it's not important.

My mom's an artist. Which, in her case, means she's always downtown in her loft, putting paint on paper. That also means, I'm usually home alone. With my mom away half the time, and my dad never home- He's always away on "business trips," but I just know that's not what he's doing. Even my mom must know he's cheating on her. She just doesn't want to admit it to herself. Personally, I think she'd be better off without him. He's a jerk, to say the least. I hate him. And I don't really like my mom either.- I'm always "parent-less." So rather than stay home alone, I usually crash at a friend's house.

Everyone knows me. Because I, am the popular, rich, athletic girl. I always have the best clothes, the best looks, and the best performance in sports.

I'm a redhead. My hair's more auburn than red. People always ask me if it's my natural hair color, and before you do, let me just say, duh. And I have gorgeous green eyes. I'm thin, fit, and tan. Oh, and tanning beds are for fake girls. I tan naturally. So take that.

I pride myself in my athletic ability, or whatever it's called. I'm the best long-distance runner in my district, and once next year's track season comes around, I'll be the best in the state. Oh, and I'm point guard in basketball. Did I mention that? It means I'm the best.

If you think I'm talking about myself too much, or I sound conceited... too bad. This is my diary, and I'll write whatever I want in it. Besides, the only reason I'm doing this is because the counselor told me to. I don't know why she's so "concerned" with me. A lot of people have bad parents. Big whoop.

So, I'm writing this "diary" to get her off my case. Anyways, I'm supposed to write about my "standards." When I asked Ms. Green (she's the counselor, duh. Pay attention!) what that meant, she was all like, "Start with what you think about certain things, like drinking or dating. And remember, no one's going to read this unless you want them to. So write whatever you want."

So since I don't want her asking me whether I've written in my diary or not in front of my friends (can anyone say social suicide?), I guess I'd better write what she wants me to write.

So, my standards on... drinking? Well... you see... Okay, never mind. I don't want to talk about this. Stupid Ms. Green, thinking she knows everything about me... No one knows everything about me, except for... never mind. This "diary" is going in the freezer. (What, you don't put all your unwanted things in the freezer? Ha. What's wrong with you?) And I refuse to write anything else in it. Sorry. Too bad. Bye. Besides, it's not like anything interesting happens in my life...

- Gwen xoxo