Cracks in Anchors

cher vieux moi

I always thought nobody would like me - I was the classic social outcast who’d rather dissipate in a dark corner than mingle with the living. I pretended to hate gossip when I really craved it like one of my many cigarettes. I pretended to look down upon the incredibly-hot jocks when I really thought they were just that; incredibly hot. I pretended to scoff upon the girls who wore tight clothes when really I was envious, wishing I could wear something that skinny and sexy and make myself look anything other than plain and monogamous.

I came to terms already with who I was - the plain Jane of the high school; voted most likely to become a recluse and most likely to have been a turtle in a past-life. I remember reading the text under my picture in the yearbook, laughing it off with a few girls who shared the library table with me, and then stuffing it into the bottom of the garbage when I got home. I guess I was ashamed about it, but mostly I was pissed off that that was all I was known for.

But I couldn’t change who I was, even despite how much I wished I was born with a different personality, had become a different person as I grew into “maturity.” I was stuck as me, though, and somehow I managed to function without fucking everything up. I got average grades in school and had a good relationship with my parents and didn’t have sex 24/7. I didn’t have a troublesome boyfriend, or any form of a boyfriend, and liked to read rather than go to parties I didn’t get invited to anyway. I was perfectly fine being alone and having three cats named after fictional characters. I was perfectly fine with not expecting anything spectacular to occur in my life.

But then we got a new French teacher.
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sigh. I don't know. Comments will make me motivated to write another chapter. Hwaiting.