Dear Meggie

November 30th, 2012

November 30th, 2012

 

Dear Meggie,

You’re completely obsessed with your boyfriend.

Lately, it’s just been you and Will, all the time. During our lunch period. Will. After School. Will. Whenever I try to call you. Still. With. Will.

And during those precious hours in which you are NOT speaking to Will, you are TALKING about him. About his hair. His eyes. How amazing he is. It’s become quite the annoyance.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind these actions of yours, except for the fact that I know he doesn’t feel the same way about you, and you are always too naive to notice that he likes someone else.

But then again, who wouldn’t like you, Meggie? You’re Meggie Zeldoon, with the perfect body. The perfect, straight, flowing chocolate hair. The perfect straight, small, and white teeth. Perfect mouth. Perfect family. Perfect life. Perfect everything.

Especially, if that person likes me, ratty haired, chubby, cheekbone-less, disgusting Harriett.

I suppose it is reasonable, that you like him, and it is reasonable, for you to feel that he likes you back. I mean, you two are going out, after all, and it’s not like a person like Will would ever really fall for me. People like Will are supposed to fall for perfect girls like you.

You guys still haven’t even kissed, yet you are completely and utterly obsessed with the boy.

On the bright side, you gave me two tickets to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream on Christmas. You have the other two. You told me, in these exact words, “I’ll find you a date so that you aren’t so lonely from Will and I.”

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just your friend so that people pay attention to you. I mean, one might look at your perfect face on the street, and say, “That girl Margaret is very pretty,” but then as they pass me and you walking together, they feel your beauty is magnified, and say, “That girl Meggie? Yeah, she’s perfect.”

Whenever I’m sick, you always complain that while I was out, no one came up to talk to you, or say any praises or anything. Maybe you need me for that. Or maybe you’re just too dense to see that girls like you don’t really hang out with girls like me.

Or maybe you just genuinely like me.

Sincerely,

Harriett