That girl. The one in the cashmere sweater, and reading glasses. That blond carrying her English textbook and staring at the grass as she walks. The soft-spoken scholar; the awkward outcast.
That girl is me, but not really.
On the bus, she sits alone. Her eyes stare straight ahead, as if pondering some scientific equation. No one else can relate. She climbs off the bus and walks quickly up the driveway, eyes lowered. Once inside she heads upstairs immediately, enters her bedroom and shuts the door.
Alone. In her bedroom, in a crowd… always alone. Trembling, she plugs in her iPod and turns up the volume. The music blares, pounding in her ears. Her eyes close. Boom, boom, boom, boom. A twitch. A hop. She begins to move.
She twirls and jumps, and pops and locks. Around the room she soars, her knees bent and bouncing, her face stretched wide in a smile. Arms flung wide, she embraces the beauty of the moment.
That girl. The one pouring out her soul, her heart on her sleeve. That is truly me.