Well the first thing you should probably know is that my name is Lilly. Now this isn't your everyday, average love story. No. This is my love story that I will tell. You may choose to read this, or you can just go about your day doing what ever you do.
Chapter 1: Journal Entry on 2.14.10
I am about five foot nine, and have long black hair. I attend Apple Grove High School in Illinois. Times are tough, and everyday I come home to parents who are drunk and fighting. I try to put my mind in a different state by over dosing my anxiety medication. I guess you could say I have a hard life. But others would say its the normal life of a girl who doesn't quite fit in. The worst part though about being Lilly is that, I'm not all that cool. I'm not noticed much. No one pays any attention to me. Everyday, I walk swiftly through the halls. Oh, and one more thing. That bitch, Carley Rasmire. She, is the biggest problem ever. Carley has a short bob of blond, straight, hair. She always wear her Layla Perfu Pink No. 18 lip gloss. You can smell her perfume from a mile away because she sprays about ten pounds on everyday! Try dealing with a head ache like that. You even glance at her and your life is over. She has a thing she calls, "Her Crew." At least two people from that group, patrol every hall at Apple Grove. I must say though, she is not stupid. She is manipulative, evil, and dangerously smart. She works the G.S.C. That stands for Girls Sorority Club. It's for the girls with low self-esteem, or who she thinks has low self-esteem. Basically, she vibes them into her G.S.C and bitches at them about how fugily they are. Again, she is not a nice person. That damn bitch can go rot in hell, and no I am not Christian. I'm Atheist.
The other day I took my seat in math class, trying to tune out the words of Mr. Dildo. Well, that's what everyone calls him. His real name is Mr. Dilo. He is a huge pervert. Especially, if you sit in front. When he asks you a question, he stands right at the edge of your desk allowing his junk to spill over on top of it until you answer his question. He always glares at me, I think its because he has a raging passion for my body, and luckily I chose to sit in the back. When he sits at his desk, I swear he masturbates all day. He gets this look when he sits down and is always looking at me and rubbing his area! It's disgusting! He's also about, I'd say 56 years old. Frankly, I don't go for old pedophiles. Maybe I can transfer out of that class. He always seems horny too. It really disgusts me. I hate perverts like that.
It seems that because I am different, I can't find love. Well, I figure that I find it, but it con't work its way back to me. When I first walked through the doors of the high school campus, I thought oh great, boys, boys, boys. Sex, sex, sex. Not at all. No one seems to like me. Not even the nerdiest of nerds. I walk by Ken Kerfet (Science Club/Band Geek) and I smile and wave. I always get the look that says, "Get the hell out of here." I remember though in second grade, I had a huge crush on Danny Whitman. He spit on me and the other girls asked me, "Oh you too are going out now?" I didn't really know what "going out," was but I took it as a good thing. From that day on I'd always follow Danny around, and he'd run and that's what I thought love was. I thought wrong.
Now that it comes to me, I also miss my granny. Oh, she was the prettiest girl that the world had ever known! As a young lady she was absolutely stunning, which made me think, "Wow, what happened to me?" I remember sitting on her lap and she'd tell me stories about how stuck up those cheer leaders were, and how mean those football players were. She always said, that I should never make the same mistakes she did. Like losing her virginity at only 15, or sneaking out at night to go have a date with the one who you thought you'd marry. And to never say yes to a man who is always focused on you boobs. If he can keep his eyes locked on yours for more than five minutes, he's true. In sixth grade, my mothers mom had died. No one really knows how, because she was the happiest person you'd ever meet. She was sweet and caring and she was in good health. I ramones on the good times we had. Taking long tiresome walks to the park. Watching the birds fly over head. Feeding that dirty tabby cat in the ally way on fifth street, who we called speckles. I guess she just took a turn for the worst, and past away. From that day on, nothings been the same.