I absolutely hate school, it's not because I'm stupid or anything, it's just that my daily of routine of being shoved in the hallway, snubbed by upperclassmen, and taunted gets kind of old after awhile.

Here I am in art class. The room is filled with the smell of tempera paint, soapy water, and the unbearable stench of people who must have spilled the whole bottle of perfume on themselves. One of these people is the teacher, Mrs. Delevan. Mrs. Delevan is an angry woman who critiques our pathetic attempts at a piece of artwork to the fullest extent. She even made some girl cry when she said that her two year old son could do a better self portrait than her worthless piece of garbage.

Mrs. Delevan stands at the front of the class waiting for the class to be quiet. Her square glasses are resting on the edge of her point nose while her auburn hair is up in a tight bun on the top of her head with a few strings of hair that she missed hangs and sticks to the side of her face.

She huffs, "Okay class, we are still in our unit on the human body. Last week we finished with our oil pastel portraits and now we are starting another project that is somewhat similar to our last one. You are going to start another portrait, but this time you are going to use a picture to draw from. It can be a picture of you, a friend, or even Brad Pitt but as long as it's human it's fine with me. But we're starting that next week because I had to order a special kind of drawing pencil that's on backorder right now and I should have it by next Wednesday. So we are going to do free sketch from now until Wednesday."

Suddenly the fire alarm goes off and Mrs. Delevan starts to look around nervously and commands for us to leave our stuff and follow her outside in a nice, orderly manner. We all run out of the door and go to the nearest fire escape.

I see Lizzie alongside Miranda as they run together out of a science room and follow their bald teacher trying to catch up with their class, where ever it might be.

No, I have that smile on my face right now whenever I see her, that goofy, stupid smile that haunts me. Along with the smile, I feel this electricity flow through my body. I absolutely hate this. I'm supposed to be boy crazy like Lizzie; I'm supposed to be the stereotypical teenage girl who likes cute guys and staring at them for hours in Teen or Seventeen Magazine. But no, I'm attracted to a girl. I guess maybe it kind of fits because I'm a peculiar moron to begin with so why not make me more of a freak?

"In a neat, orderly line," Mrs. Delevan yells at us which tears me from my thoughts.

Now I find myself staring at Lizzie's pink glossed lips which flecks of glitter that shine in the March sunlight. She's whispering something to Miranda and Miranda giggles. I wish that I could be close to Lizzie's glossed lips and see what kind of lip gloss she uses. Stop thinking these bad thoughts, Andie! You're a girl for god sake; you're not supposed to be attracted to other girls. You're supposed to be your parents' little girl and not their freak dyke of a child. "Keep up, Ms. Robinson," Mrs. Delevan snarls, "The fire drill is over!"

I start to lag behind the class as we trudge into the building and before I know it, Lizzie has vanished into the distance with Miranda and their science class. Lizzie doesn't even acknowledge my presence.why do I even bother?

~~~

Home is better than school, it's as boring as hell but no one torments me. I wish Corey would be charitable and actually offer to drive me home once in awhile. If he was actually like that, then I wouldn't be subjected to have to sit with the barbarians on the school bus.

"Andie," I hear a voice from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

Of course it's Corey; he's probably raiding the wine cabinet for a party he's going to tonight. Corey is a very mercurial person. One minute he can be a crying mess and the next he can be "Boy from The Real Cancun". He's kind of hard to describe because of that, but he's an alright brother. I remember when we were younger; he used to protect me at the Hill Ridge playground from the other kids. Those were the days. Now he's just so unpredictable, maybe it's a teenage guy thing.

"Yeah, Corey, it's me," I sigh.

He walks out of the kitchen with a somewhat of a limp. His brown hair is spiked up and gelled up. He has my mother's eyes, a soft blue color that matches the color of his shirt. His khaki pants wrinkle over his dirty sneakers.

"What happened, Corey," I ask as I point at him.

"Gym class," He sighs as he looks at me. "I was looking for ice in the freezer. Do you know where mom keeps the ice trays?"

I scoff, "You're the older one."

He looks at me strangely and his voice shows confusion, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind, Corey," I sigh as I head towards the stairs.

I trudge up the stairs to my room which is right at the end of the hallway next to the upstairs bathroom. My room is kind of feminine in a way. I have one of those four post beds with a peach lace canopy with a matching blanket and sheet set. My desk is very disorganized with various pencils, pens, and pieces of paper scattered across the white wooden desk. My most prized possession would have to be my white armoire. When I first watched Beauty and the Beast when I was about three, I loved the talking wardrobe. Ever since then I had always wanted something like that. After six years of bugging my parents until they broke and finally got me one. All of my clothes take up its drawers and hangers.

I'm one of those people who buy a lot of clothes and just wear half of them. The whole idea is very absurd, because they just either get tired of some of the clothes or they don't like how they look on me. On the contrary, I love how the sheer peasant tops that collect dust in my closet look on me, they're just too revealing. I know I'm odd, but I don't like it when guys drool at you when you have a revealing shirt on. Frankly, it disgusts me.

Yet again these thoughts come out of the mind of a mentally disturbed lesbian freak, so what exactly does that say?

Am I supposed to be feeling these feelings when I see or think about Lizzie? I mean, maybe it's just a phase that I'm supposed to go through and then I'll start liking guys again. Yeah, that's it, it's just a phase. It's an ever so psychotic phase that I'll grow out of.

But there's something about Lizzie. Maybe it's her ever so flawless skin and how her frames her face when it blows gently in the wind and it makes her look like a beautiful goddess emerging out of the ocean.

Bad Andie! You're not supposed to think these thoughts!

I mentally slap myself; I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. I'm supposed to be dreaming about guys and not girls. I can't be attracted to someone that's the same sex as me, it's wrong. Yet again I'm just this naïve little girl who doesn't know anything about anything. I'm hoping that I just don't know what I want, and in the end I'll figure it out and be perfectly normal. These feelings aren't right, I'm not normal to begin with, so this will just make me more of a freak.

I seriously wish there was someone I could talk to that could help me sort out my issues without being completely judgmental towards me, yet again everyone in this world is judgmental towards something.

The world is completely screwed up, if only everyone could be more open- minded towards each other, then we would live in a utopia. A utopia would be absolutely wonderful. Everything would be perfect; yet again nothing really can be perfect. Oh well, so be it.

The sun is setting right now and is absolutely beautiful as the sky looks like its on fire with bits of red, orange, and yellow mix together over the horizon and create a picture perfect sunset. I haven't seen a sunset so beautiful in so long. It's absolutely magnificent and has a romantic vibe to it. I wish Lizzie and I could watch the sunset together and just be with each other in a perfect utopia. Then I could see what flavor her glittery lip gloss is.

If only fantasies could be turned into realities.

[A/N: Please review with your thoughts, thank you.]