Satan School of Sophomores

Look Like a Virgin: 10/27/14

6:58am Monday, October 27

I remember when I was eleven, I met a Jew from World War II. He came to speak at my middle school. His story was incredibly sad. His mother had to have an alleyway abortion; she could never have children after that. He lost mostly all of his family and barely made it out alive. I feel so honored to have met him.

3:41pm
I'm in a strange mood today, and when I'm in an odd mood it calls for even stranger acting scenes. Jake got a scene full of my aggression, struggles and sadness as I displayed my innermost fake emotions with an improvisational character and plot. I leaned against the interior wall of the bus as we sat on our way home, and I pretended to be Viola van Gershwin; a misunderstood young heiress who lost her father in a tragic car accident on the outskirts of Marseille. She smokes a cigarette and talks quietly about her life.

I'm looking for a way I can reel in Kota. He's so sexy. I apologize to myself for this incessant behavior.

4:42pm
At least I've got Roy Orbison to get me through. I feel less than sexy, myself.

Today in math, Casey (this popular asshole in my grade) and his new friend Pablo (Panama exchange student) start bothering me.

** = Blair side notes

*whoosh back to math class*
Casey: Hey, Pablo, are you a virgin?
*The bumble boob sits behind me, Pablo to my left*
Pablo: Nope.
Casey: Oh really? How many times have you had sex?
Pablo: 8
Casey: How many chicks?
Pablo: 5
*I think to myself: Yeah RIGHT and I'm a speckled hermaphrodite sloth sitting on a rainbow*
Casey: Lemme see. Are they bangable?
*Pablo pulls out fucking pictures (!) from his phone, I didn't see them. Casey scrolls through*
Casey: I'd only bang one of these chicks
Pablo: These photos are old. I can tell you're a virgin though.
Casey: I've had sex sixteen times. Duh. *everyone in the world rolls their eyes*
*My curiosity overtakes my math sheet interest, and I turn around.*
Me: When do you stop counting?
Without skipping a beat Casey says: After 20.
*Where the fuck is this sex rules book that I never saw???*
Casey: Are you a virgin? (Asking me)
Me: I'm not going to answer that question.
Pablo: She's not. I can see it in her face. (Casey nods)
*more eye rolling by me and some hair flipping, I turn around*
Casey: So you're not a virgin, Blair?
Me: Not. Answering.
Pablo: She doesn't look like a virgin.
*YOU CANNOT JUST TELL THAT BY A PERSON'S FACE, OKAY? I KNOW SWEET LIL NERDS WHO BANG AND SUPER COOL BANANAS WHO NEVER DO.*

Moral of story: If you don't want to "look like a virgin" wear all black and make-up helps. Boys are dumb.

Real moral: Do not judge a book by it's cover.

Later in the day, Casey went on to ask Scarlet, she said she didn't know if I was a virgin or not. If you think I'm hardcore, I'm not.

Just to clarify, I am a virgin. Not by Jesus, by choice.

9:50pm
Isn't it just the most terrible thing when the road has barely opened up, but you already want to stop driving?

That's how I feel.

I feel like giving up. Even though I have yet to do much of anything with my life, I want it to be over. Or I want to skip two years ahead.

I'm crying, and tomorrow is my birthday.

I'm crying, because the words hurt.

I'm crying, because I try so hard, and I'm still not where I want to be.

I'm crying, because people hate things about me that I can't change. I can't change the sound of my voice. I can't change my shyness. I can't change my eye color. I can't change my skin color. I can't change who I am for other people.