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katkent15

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It was horrible.

The minute the words came out of my parents mouth. I couldn't hear the sound, I was dumbfounded and taken aback, I forgot to hear the words, but I could read lips.

And i immediatly knew what she had said

"Catholic Private School"

It was a blur after that. I was pissed right away. I loved my friends and catholic school has NO diversity. There are no goths, no emos, no punks

they are a bunch of paris hilton's tramp army in the making. And now I would be thought of as one of THEM. The coach bags and designer outfits. The smugness that they give to people like me. Laughing their heads off at the thought of ever WORKING for anything. Especially the mall. Why not? They've got a dad and a plastic card of what seems like unlimited spending.

The day I got there, I realized which ones they were right away, and I knew the guys that matched perfectly with them. I also got in trouble for my make up when they had more of a mask on then me. I wore black eye shadow, black eyeliner and black lipstick. In the past, I wouldn't wear that much but I was determined. I would NOT be identified with them. I would tell them I wasn't interested in fashion and designers and wasn't about to. I'd rather have no friends then fake skanks like them

I had a stereotypical anger towards people I really didn't know anyway. but that was fine. I knew there was drama and deciect within those perfect, bleached teeth and $200 lipgloss. I made some friends who also wasn't one of them. They were the outcasts and it was as if my presence united us to make something.

I wanted out of there. NOW. I cried when I got home on my pillow. I slit my wrists as usual, and avoided my parents. I knew they would reassure themselves saying my anger was just a phase and i'd overcome it eventually. I wouldn't. I was determined to hate it. If they talked to me, I just kept my arms folded, showing i was not about to accept them, and didn't say a word. I looked straight ahead, even if they were sitting in front of me.

I was pissed. The thought of them actually reaching out to me just to screw me later was despicable. I wanted to slap them hard. Knock some sense into them. Starving kids in africa? AIDS? HIV? homeless people? Abortions in China? You know, things worth doing something about. Not lipgloss.

My name was Amy and I was dark. I dyed my hair multiple times and I had passion. I had lyrics in my head, describing things other people couldnt. I put feelings into words people never would have thought of. I wasn't deceived. I perfered to see the aweful sickness in the world rather than be naive and think everything was fine. Of course I had had my share of boyfriends and breakups and it hurt. But I didn't cry in a corner at every dance and wait for people to come over. I held them inside and found a way to put a beat to them. I played the guitar and was the lead singer in a garage band of me and my friends forming something called Lea's Vendetta.

I needed out, then, my prayers to who knows what were answered in the oddest way possible.

A trick.

 Me

<-- Them