I sit here, on the edge of things. Because I’m edgy. I’m different. I’m me. I doodle in my notebook, watching the cheerleaders flirt with guys who’ll never look at me, watching the nerds ignore me. I used to be one of them. But now I’m different. I’m finally being myself. True to myself. I sit back from my doodling, aloof.
“Oh, honey,” my only friend says, stooping beside me. “What is that?”
“What do you mean?”
“That,” she says, pointing at my face.
“Um…” I stammer, not following her.
“You look like you’re going to cry. That’s the saddest face I’ve ever seen.”
“Not sad. Mysterious,” I say emphatically. “I’m an enigma. These other freaks,” I gesture across the cafeteria, “they just don’t get me.”
“No, honey,” she says, “they do. They just don’t care.” She puts her arm around me and sighs. They don’t care about her either.