She was loving, caring, kind.
She had a smile for everyone and a solution to everything. She was everyone's best friend. She would help you with your homework if you were stuck or just didn't do it.
She was innocent, pure, sweet.
She hated making people uncomfortable so she would go out of her way to make you feel at home. She would sit with you at lunch and trade her Oreos for your raisins so you could enjoy your lunch.
She was talented, hard-working, passionate.
She loved entertaining people; whether on stage or not. She would pour her heart and soul into every single performance and be modest when you congratulated her on a job well done.
She was beautiful, smart, elegant.
After a while, the boys took notice to the fact she was changing. She didn't enjoy this type of spotlight on her and would spend most of her time alone in the library or in the auditorium with her brother.
She was witty, intelligent, sarcastic.
For every comment, she had another one ready to fire. People mistook her sarcasm for seriousness and began to dislike her, no matter of how she acted.
She was an outcast, alone, sad.
She locked herself in the drama or music rooms during lunch and after school, seeking alone time and finding solace in the one thing she loved most.
She was cold, distant, bitter.
She became her own character; a queen thrown off her throne unjustly. She seeked revenge; she seeked her rightful place on top of the social scene.
She was lonely, lost, confused.
She would hurry home after drama meetings, afterschool detentions, or other activities and lock herself in her room. She would turn up the music as loud as she could and cry for hours.
She was unloved, uncared for, friendless.
Her one true friend eventually left her. Just like everyone else.
She was misunderstood, misjudged, misguided.
Everyone took her passion for the theatre as obssessive. She viewed it as her last hope for survival.
She was dethroned, shoved aside, and pushed down.
She lost everything when they won the roles once more. They stole the one thing that kept her alive; her only outlet.
She was scared, alone, tired.
She didn't want to put up the facade anymore. She wanted to be herself without fear of judgement. But she couldn't. She had dug herself into a hole so deep, she couldn't reach the top.
She was gone, dead, wronged.
She didn't see any other way. She had to stop it before it was too late.
If only she knew what we did.
She wrote one final note. One last piece of her. One last rememberance of her beauty, her grace, her kindness, her passion, her love.
She was loved.
Dear Ryan,
I'm sorry it had to come to this. By the time you read this, I'll be dead. I have nothing left to live for. I'm lost and no one is here to guide me. I just want to let you know that I love you even if you didn't think so. Tell everyone else that I love them, too. I never stopped. I just changed with the rest of them and they misunderstood me; but it's not their fault.
I'm sorry. I really wish it was different, but it isn't. I love you.
Love,
Sharpay
OMG. This was seriously the most depressing thing I've ever written. If it's horrible, tell me. I might rewrite it when I'm not dead tired and bombarded with homework.