The Assignment

Kate's POV

I run into the girl's bathroom. There are about twenty minutes left of lunch, but I can't sit at that table anymore and listen to my friends gush about the damn social studies assignment and how they all wrote about themselves and their happy little shallow lives.

I knew Claire would. I could tell by the way she was happily hunched over her paper during class, writing away without a care in the world, smirking at all those less fortunate people around her.

That's what I meant to do, what I wanted to do, but I couldn't make myself do.

I check my make-up and hair in the mirror. Fortunately, the bathroom is empty. I can remove my façade.

Claire is honestly convinced that everyone in class, or the girls at least, had written about her. She really believes everyone wants to be like her. She is that conceited and stuck-up for real.

She isn't a fake like me, hiding behind a series of masks. I know better. No one wants to be like me. Why should they? I don't.

I need to get my paper back from Mr. Dig. If what I did gets out I'll be ruined at this school. Beyond ruined. Life changing ruined.

I, Kate Saunders, had lowered myself to write about one of the little nothings at this school. One of the lowlife freaks.

I'd be a complete laughing stock, my perfect image wiped away forever... if they found out that I'd written about of all people, ugh. . .the one person I truly hate...Miranda Sanchez.

I hate Miranda. Miranda hates me. It's a known fact. I don't know what possessed me to choose her.

That's a lie. I do know. It all comes back to my issues with perfection.

I have to be perfect all the time. I can never say the wrong thing, wear the wrong thing, talk to the wrong people. I can never be out of step. I must fit in and be like the other lemmings. I must watch my back, look over my own shoulder, keep in line. I must guard myself.

I let down my guard today.

I'm a lemming like the rest. Being popular and in charge doesn't make you less of one, just the leader of the pack.

I despise people that can just say what they want or do what they want like its no big deal. That's why I hate Miranda. That's the kind of person she is. She does things the way she wants.

She wears crazy outfits that don't match. Her hair is weirder than her clothes. But the freakiest part is that on her, it works. As much as it pains me to admit, it looks good on her.

If anybody else tried to do that stuff, including popular ole me, they'd look utterly ridiculous.

People think she's funky. Personally, I hate that stupid word. Funky. It makes me cringe just hearing it. What is that?

Miranda's not funky, just different.

I wear designer clothes bought with my dearest mother's credit cards. It's the least she can do for me. It's about all she does for me. My clothes are plain and boring. Nice enough to be considered stylish and in fashion, making some of the lesser lemmings envious, but not daring enough to actually make a statement of any kind.

Miranda makes statements. She does what she wants to. Don't get me wrong, she's not some out of control crazed wild child or anything, but she does have a rebellious streak and is willing to try almost anything at least once.

Back when we were friends she always got Lizzie and me into trouble. She would come up with some brilliant idea and beg us to play along, promising us a world of fun in the process.

Lizzie and I were a team. At first we would stick together and say no to her pleas, but Miranda knew how to break us down. She would look at us pitifully with her big brown eyes and pout until we changed our minds. I don't know why we even resisted. We always changed our minds and we almost always wound up in trouble.

The thing is, Miranda was right. I had to give that to her. The fun we had usually outweighed any punishments our parents could have given us. Her ideas were the best, even if her execution left a lot to be desired.

Like this one time when we were eight---Lizzie, Gordo, Miranda and I snuck out of Lizzie's house to go into town for ice cream. Miranda insisted our babysitter, who was busy with her boyfriend on the couch, would never notice and we would be back before anyone knew.

Of course we agreed and of course we were wrong. The babysitter found us missing and called the police. By the time we got back all the parents were frantic. We were grounded for a month.

My mom was furious. She declared Miranda a bad influence and forbid me to see her. This coming from the woman who doesn't have an ounce of spare time for me unless it benefits her to take an interest. But soon she met a new guy and fortunately for me, forgot her own distaste for Miranda. At the time, I was glad.

I never do anything risky now. My friends are boring as hell and the last thing I'm about to do is mess up my reputation to make life more interesting. I need my reputation. I mean Claire's idea of taking a risk is going two weeks without a manicure or cheating on her stupid diet. Big whoop.

Though I would never admit it out loud, I sometimes miss my old life and old friends. Lizzie, Miranda and Gordo. Even though I abandoned them, it still hurts to know that they are as close as ever. The group doesn't need me to survive and obviously never has.

I check my watch. Ten more minutes before this period is over and I can get on with my life and forget all about Miranda and this stupid assignment.

Forget all about the girl who was the first one to jump off the top of the jungle gym and the first to learn to ride a bike without training wheels. Forget all about the girl who couldn't even wait for her dad to take the training wheels off for her. Instead she bribed Gordo with curly fries to help her pry them off and then proceeded to teach herself to ride the same day.

I was the last to learn to ride, even after Lizzie. I didn't want to mess up my pretty party dresses and pretty party shoes. I didn't want to get hurt. I was scared.

That's what ticks me off the most about Miranda. She's fearless, she's not scared of anything and I'm scared of absolutely everything.

Particularly of people seeing through my façade. What if I take it off and forget to put it back on? What then?

I swear sometimes I think Gordo sees through it, like at lunch today. That might just be wishful thinking on my part. I want someone I don't need to pretend around, that I can confide in. He would understand. I just know he would. I was always closest to him. But then I remember, he's Lizzie's boyfriend and Miranda's best friend. I must be imagining things. He has to be on their side.

Ugh...Miranda. Did I mention how much she ticks me off? Perfect example. You would think being lower on the social food chain, she would be scared of me or at least of what I could do to her. She's not. She's fiercely loyal to her friends and stands up to me when I pick on Lizzie, even though she's seriously less than half my size. I could never imagine Claire standing up for me like that. Hell, Claire would probably be the one stabbing me in the back in the first place.

Lizzie will stand up to me occasionally, but with Lizzie you can practically see the effort it takes for her to do it. She wills herself to do it. Miranda just doesn't take crap, especially from me.

Oh, and then there's the time when she was in the school play. She stunk up the stage she was so terrible. The entire school made fun of her with me doing the worst damage of course.

If Miranda got upset, she hid it well. Had it been me, I would have died. Humiliation in front of the whole school is one of my worst nightmares. I wouldn't have been able to show my face, or at least the face I let others see.

I'm the one who practices my cheerleading routine in front of the mirror for hours on end, just so I'm sure that there's no chance of me even messing up one little step. Being out of step is bad. Lemmings aren't allowed to be out of step.

Must be perfect. Must be perfect. It's an alarm that goes off repeatedly in the back of my mind. It's too loud to tune out.

But there was Miranda, back on the stage two weeks later singing a huge solo with glee club. I couldn't make fun of her then. She was too good.

To her if she sucks at one thing, she tries again until she finds something she's better at. She doesn't care if people don't think she's perfect.

The curse with trying to be perfect all the time is you can't ever try anything new for fear of failure. That's my biggest fear. Failure. I'm completely and utterly afraid of failing at anything.

Because my parents are such failures and complete screw-ups, I'm hell bent on proving I'm not. Proving that I'm better than they are. Believe me, it's not hard.

I wonder if Mr. Dig would let me get my paper back. I could take it home and write what I originally intended. Make up some crap about me and how much I love myself and my perfect glorious world.

I shake my head. It's of no use. Mr. Dig isn't too bad as teachers go, but he would know that everything I wrote in the first place was the truth. He'd want to talk about it, discuss my feelings. He'd want me to open up. I'd rather be sick.

As much as I want someone to confide in, I don't discuss my feelings with teachers. That's definitely not cool. What if he called my mom or worse, told my friends?

Lizzie walks into the bathroom, ignoring me. It's time to get back to work.

I toss my hair in her direction and role my eyes at her in the mirror.

"I'm not in the mood for you Kate", Lizzie mutters.

"What?" I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is something wrong with Lizzie the loser?" I hold a loser sign to my forehead.

Lizzie enters a stall, again ignoring me completely.

I make a mental note to remember it. Something is eating her and it was sure to be something that I could use to my advantage later.

I give the mirror one last look and study my image carefully. I touch my face lightly making sure the façade is back in place, just as it should be. I turn on my heel and flounce out of the bathroom.

I have no choice, I'm just going to have to risk it.