**Author's Note from 8 years later** I wrote this when I was fourteen. So, not only is the writing-style a disaster, but I imagine even the plot is inherently embarrassing. The only reason I'm not deleting this, is because it's one of the first stories I'd ever finished and actually published somewhere to be read.
Does it suck? Yes. Do you have the option to read it anyway? Yes.
Anyway, carry on.
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I'll be honest with you-- my biggest fear is probably the strangest fear obtainable. My best friend, Connor, who I've known since the first day of kindergarten, still doesn't understand it. Although I've attempted to give him the most descriptive explanation of it-- he still thinks it's silly.
My biggest fear is being normal.
Now, when you think of normal, you probably imagine it as bland, tasteless, nothing colorful or unique.
No.
My version of normal is blending in. Being like everyone else. Having the same standards and imagination as the other people around me.
The only person I was okay with having similar personalities with? Was Connor.
And with describing each our personalities-- I would say that he's a little more up-tight and paranoid than I am.
There's a fortunate side to that-- he's the one to change my mind when I decide to take on stupid dares that involve getting suspended.
But with me, I can add a little fun to about anything.
It was the one quality I wasn't afraid to brag about.
Everything else about me was a little obnoxious, though.
I didn't care about other people's opinions.
I would be the girl to start a food fight, or a protesting statement in the cafeteria-- while Connor would be the one tugging at my sleeve to get me to shut up.
I never wanted to be like the "cool" kids with the double standards and backwards priorities.
There was nothing promising or trustworthy about them. What kind of differences could they make in the world? Beat the record for 'most money spent on a pair of shoes'?
The time it takes to cake your face with greasy foundations and layer mascara until your eye-lashes look like spider legs? Not my type of people.
I was fine hanging out with the kids who dressed outrageously strange and wore no makeup and didn't mind showing up with hair styles that nobody else bothered to even attempt. Those kind of people have more to say. They have more in their personality than to blend with the crowd.
And I would never be one of those greasy-faced mini-skirt girls who apply lip gloss every five minutes.
That would be an unfortunate yet accurate definition for "normal". And I, however, would be set farthest from that category. Gladly.
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I had one close friend that I'd be fine with having as my one and only. I didn't need a group of people to hang around just so they could tell me I should wear shorts more often or I should try doing something with my hair other than throw it back in a pony tail.
Connor was the friend that kept me out of trouble, and I was the one to get him into having a little fun. We balanced each other out.
That was the only friend I needed.
YOU ARE READING
Imperfect | est. 2015
Teen Fiction"but that's the fun part," she says, "you can't tell a soul."
