not EVERYONE was amused. Mr. Dean couldn’t decide whether to throw you out or laugh. And Alex sort of looked right through you (that thousand-yard stare of Alex Snyder).
And the Cro Mags, of course, had a field day, grunting and scratching and passing nasty comments to each other. You have to take the good with the bad.
But here’s another big change. A year ago, McCrae, the Cro Mag comments would have killed you. A year ago, you worried about their opinions. You wanted them to be your friends. HOW
many years did it take to realize THEY WERE GOING TO MAKE FUN OF YOU NO
MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRIED TO BE LIKE THEM?
As if you ever could.
So … if you can’t join them, do exactly what they hate. Like dance past them, singing “All You Need Is Love,” and toss them a flower — then watch the look on Marco Bardwell’s face the moment after he catches it and realizes his apelike friends are NEVER going to let him live it down.
Ducky, you may be strange but you are a genius.
If only Jason JAY hadn’t gotten so bent out of shape. JAY, being one of your oldest friends, should KNOW your sense of humor, but obviously he didn’t, because he acted like you handed him a dead squid and muttered, “Do you ALWAYS have to make a fool of yourself?”
Do you?
Do I?
Even Later That Afternoon
In Math Class, to Be Exact
I.
I.
I.
Why do I call myself “you” all the time? This can’t be normal. Only I don’t know, because to figure out what “normal” is, I’d have to read other people’s journals and I’m not allowed because Vista requires you to keep yours PRIVATE, to “provide you with a personal learning
experience,” but it WOULD be nice if you could at least see A LITTLE of someone else’s, because soon the world will be full of Vista students with piles of unread journals and that seems like such a waste of both paper and interesting stories.
What it boils down to is this: Writing “I” is creepy. TOO personal. You feel self-conscious.
You worry about how you come across. But with “you,” it’s like you’re another person. It’s just easier, that’s all. It’s easier to be someone else.
Here comes Ms. Patterson. If she sees this, I’m toast.
2B cont.
Home at Last
Still Depressed
But Not Toast
I wish I hadn’t written that.
The part about being someone else.
I’ve been thinking about it all day.
It’s kind of pathetic, in a way. Like you can’t stand being yourself.
I asked Sunny about this. I asked her if she ever wanted to be someone else.
She said she always wants to be someone else.
Which is RIDICULOUS because she’s great exactly the way she is (I told her so), but she just said that if I were in her shoes — if MY mom had cancer, if MY dad spent all his time at the hospital and at his bookstore — I’d be pretty upset too.
I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. I shouldn’t have used the word ridiculous. I know the pressure she’s under. I’m the one who found her that night at Venice Beach, alone and scared, dumped by that guy she wanted to run away with. OF COURSE she thinks about being someone else. Her life is no picnic and I WOULDN’T want to be in her shoes.
But the thing is, even though I’m NOT in her shoes I STILL feel depressed.
This is a DEEP-INSIDE problem, not a BAD CIRCUMSTANCES problem.
At least Sunny KNOWS who she is. You can tell by looking at her — the weird chair, the funky layered outfits, the body piercings or magnetic studs or whatever those things are. Even her opinions — loud and clear even when they’re wrong — all of it says THIS IS ME, SUNNY
WINSLOW, TOO BAD IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT.
Dawn’s like that too. She can obsess a LITTLE about the environment and global warning and health foods and yada yada, but you always know where she stands.
And Maggie. Serious, intense, attitude-of-the-month Maggie. Committed punk rebel for awhile
[sic], pretty good girl until that wore off, star rock singer after that. Always changing but
And the Cro Mags, of course, had a field day, grunting and scratching and passing nasty comments to each other. You have to take the good with the bad.
But here’s another big change. A year ago, McCrae, the Cro Mag comments would have killed you. A year ago, you worried about their opinions. You wanted them to be your friends. HOW
many years did it take to realize THEY WERE GOING TO MAKE FUN OF YOU NO
MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRIED TO BE LIKE THEM?
As if you ever could.
So … if you can’t join them, do exactly what they hate. Like dance past them, singing “All You Need Is Love,” and toss them a flower — then watch the look on Marco Bardwell’s face the moment after he catches it and realizes his apelike friends are NEVER going to let him live it down.
Ducky, you may be strange but you are a genius.
If only Jason JAY hadn’t gotten so bent out of shape. JAY, being one of your oldest friends, should KNOW your sense of humor, but obviously he didn’t, because he acted like you handed him a dead squid and muttered, “Do you ALWAYS have to make a fool of yourself?”
Do you?
Do I?
Even Later That Afternoon
In Math Class, to Be Exact
I.
I.
I.
Why do I call myself “you” all the time? This can’t be normal. Only I don’t know, because to figure out what “normal” is, I’d have to read other people’s journals and I’m not allowed because Vista requires you to keep yours PRIVATE, to “provide you with a personal learning
experience,” but it WOULD be nice if you could at least see A LITTLE of someone else’s, because soon the world will be full of Vista students with piles of unread journals and that seems like such a waste of both paper and interesting stories.
What it boils down to is this: Writing “I” is creepy. TOO personal. You feel self-conscious.
You worry about how you come across. But with “you,” it’s like you’re another person. It’s just easier, that’s all. It’s easier to be someone else.
Here comes Ms. Patterson. If she sees this, I’m toast.
2B cont.
Home at Last
Still Depressed
But Not Toast
I wish I hadn’t written that.
The part about being someone else.
I’ve been thinking about it all day.
It’s kind of pathetic, in a way. Like you can’t stand being yourself.
I asked Sunny about this. I asked her if she ever wanted to be someone else.
She said she always wants to be someone else.
Which is RIDICULOUS because she’s great exactly the way she is (I told her so), but she just said that if I were in her shoes — if MY mom had cancer, if MY dad spent all his time at the hospital and at his bookstore — I’d be pretty upset too.
I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. I shouldn’t have used the word ridiculous. I know the pressure she’s under. I’m the one who found her that night at Venice Beach, alone and scared, dumped by that guy she wanted to run away with. OF COURSE she thinks about being someone else. Her life is no picnic and I WOULDN’T want to be in her shoes.
But the thing is, even though I’m NOT in her shoes I STILL feel depressed.
This is a DEEP-INSIDE problem, not a BAD CIRCUMSTANCES problem.
At least Sunny KNOWS who she is. You can tell by looking at her — the weird chair, the funky layered outfits, the body piercings or magnetic studs or whatever those things are. Even her opinions — loud and clear even when they’re wrong — all of it says THIS IS ME, SUNNY
WINSLOW, TOO BAD IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT.
Dawn’s like that too. She can obsess a LITTLE about the environment and global warning and health foods and yada yada, but you always know where she stands.
And Maggie. Serious, intense, attitude-of-the-month Maggie. Committed punk rebel for awhile
[sic], pretty good girl until that wore off, star rock singer after that. Always changing but
Similar Books
