Closing my diary, I lean back in my chair. The thoughts of his stare, his smile fall into my mind and immediately I feel angry again. That preppy boy, why must he like me? You can see it in his eyes. He has those puppy dog eyes. How can he like me when he doesn’t even understand me? If only my diary could speak and tell me what to do.

I stand up and walk into the bathroom. Staring into the mirror, a punk rock girl stares back. My black hair with blue streaks in it, my nose and ear piercings, my heavy eye liner, and my black clothes all say stay away. I plaster on my fake smile, sigh, and walk out. With a swift grab of my backpack, iPod, phone, car keys, and some breakfast, I am off to school. I let my head fall to the steering wheel as I start the car. Another fun day of school ahead… or should I say another day of prison. Yay me.