Misinterpretations

The Why's and How's

Its no secret that I'm a loner. Sits alone at lunch, doesn't have any friends, sits in the back of the class, loner. Meaningless conversation just doesn't suit me. Which is all you could really get here at Brokeshire High School. It's my last year in this place though, thank the heavens. The past 3 years flew by in a mist of awkward conversations (mostly with teachers), the occasional teasing by Molly Shoorfuse (Shitface) and her evil turd minions (Kelsey Lesster [Loosebum] and Veronica Stanly [Manly]) and most of all, being ignored so much that I began to believe I was truly invisible. That wasn't the case though, sadly. I was Miranda Densmore! The weird girl who never talked, always wore black and rarely, if ever, was spoken too. Even the teachers seemed to ignore me. My grades were good enough, A-B average. I always turned in my homework on time (as if I had anything else to do after school). So maybe what kept most people at bay, from starting a conversation with me, was the completely hate-filled scowl I held on my face whenever I was in the proximity of anyone. Just a defense mechanism. Can't be teased (too much) if you look scary enough. Molly and her shit faced friends always seemed to find a way though.

After pushing the snooze button one too many times this morning, I decided it would be better to get up than hear moms vexatious voice penetrating through the thin walls of my room. Mom is okay, in her own right. She loves my sister and I and does everything she can for us. But lately though, it seems the stresses of being a single parent with a full time job at a hospital were getting to her. I blame my father for that, I blame my father for everything.

Rolling off the bed, I slowly glided over to my closet where I retrieved a towel and wash cloth from the clean linen bin. Turning on the shower, I tried to sneak a look into the mirror only to cringe. My insanely curly, died black hair was all over my head, the black eyeliner I forgot to take off last night smudged my cheeks and the outside of my lips were lined in red, chapped, due to the uncommonly cold weather we had been having.

Forgetting about the mirror, I jump into the shower and let the hot water cascade down my neck and shoulders. My favorite part of the day. Where I could be myself. No one to judge me or the way I looked. Just me, the steam, and my thoughts.

Too quickly though, my thoughts were interrupted by my moms voice, "Randi! You better be up and ready for school, I've gotta be at the hospital early today and your sister is already finished breakfast!"

I groaned, turning off the faucet, and stepped onto the plush rug. After I toweled myself dry, I stepped in front of my full length mirror, against my better judgment. I looked at the plumpness that surrounded my midriff, the cellulite that snaked its way around my upper thighs and the droopiness of my biceps. I sighed as I started to lather my entire body with lotion. (It puts the lotion on its skin)

After getting dressed in my normal getup, Black jeans, a black long sleeve tee shirt and a black hoodie, I grabbed my headphones off my dresser, along with my messenger bag and iPod. My cell phone was already in my bag, where it had been since yesterday during school. I slowly descended the steps until I see my all too perfect sister, Anya, sitting at the kitchen table texting on her phone. Anya, with her perfect straight blonde hair, and her perfect tanned legs and perfectly toned waist. Anya was perfect, well as perfect as any junior in high school could get. She was wanted by freshman and senior guys alike. She made straight A's and was probably on her way to Harved in the next two years. Guys swooned over her, woo-ing for her attention constantly, but she never budged. She had a secret. That only I knew. Anya was a lesbian.

As I sat down beside her at our bench styled seat, she gave me a cool "good morning" only slightly looking up from her phone. That was weird. Even her too bright pink skirt and tank top wasn't enough to make me believe she was in a cheerful mood

"What's wrong?" I asked, hoping to get her to open up a bit about whatever it was that was bothering her. See, Anya was really good about hiding her true feelings. She could put on the hugest smile, and you would never know she had been crying only ten minutes before. I would know, though. I would know because she is my sister, and no matter how different we were on the outside, internally we were connected.