Confession # One: The worst thing I have ever done in my life is steal a french fry off of a stranger's plate.

Confession # Two: I am allergic to all forms of ink.

Confession # Three: My body parts are pretty much mismatched. For instance, one of my ears sticks out more than the other, one eye is wider than the other, making me look seriously deranged when I first wake up, and one of my female "assets" is a different cup size altogether.

Confession # Four: I have to wear headgear at night.

Confession # Five: Everyone in my school thinks my life is perfect. And trust me. It's not…

Confessions of A...Something.

(-prologue part two-)

KAIRI'S SIDE

No matter how hard I try, I'm really never good enough for my parents. You're probably rolling your eyes and saying "Oh please.", but it's true! I mean, whenever I do something, whether it be mix a smoothie or win state for my cheer squad, it will never be as well deserved as my dear sister, at least in their eyes.

And even though they still pat me on the head and order the housekeeper to give me a extra slice of pie, it really isn't the same. Because when my sister does these things, their eyes light up with pride, they hug her and call all of their friends to brag about what a wonderful job their wonderful daughter did with her wonderful life.

And you would think, growing up being second best, would really get to a person. And you wouldn't be far from right. It's the typical woe, straight out of the movies.

"No matter what I do, my sister's done it already. If I've gone to the Keyes, she's been to Hawaii, if I've baked a muffin, she's baked a pie!"

Except, this movie is real. And that's the most depressing part. Because really, people think my life is like a movie. You know, perfect. But I can never really put myself in that mindset. I am perfect. It's more like, Be perfect, be perfect, and finally win!

But I really can never accomplish that. Perfection, I mean. But I sure as hell have tried. And boy is it exhausting!

When I was five years old, that was the first time I ever acknowledged someone call me perfect. And honestly, when I complained to them that some one made fun of me in my class, I didn't realize it would start 8 years of hard work.

"Oh, honey, I bet you're going to grow up perfect, just like your sister!"

That word, that would dominate my life, confused me. I fanned through the pages of my parent's dictionary, and glued my eyes to what lay below them.

Perfect. 1 a : being entirely without fault or defect : FLAWLESS a perfect diamond b : satisfying all requirements

As I read over the words sprawled across the page, (and having to look up some of them too) I realized that this was what people wanted of me. This was why I felt so inferior to the people around me. I was not perfect.

And so, I strived to reach a new height of perfection. I studied until my eyes burned; I packed my own lunches every night, making sure the proportions were exactly accurate, and completely healthy. My closet was a sea of cardigans, skirts, and blouses, and there was a line of shiny black ballet flats all sitting in a long skinny container against my wall. My hair was always pulled tight, half up and half down, with a ribbon that matched my skirt. If there was a competition, I would enter, and win. If there was a trend, I knew about it first. If there was a fight, I would be the one to settle it. I fed off those around me, absorbing everyone's idea of perfection, and molded myself into that opinion.

However, when I started junior high, the idea of perfection changed. No longer was it sweater vests and red shiny apples on the teacher's desk. It was white gold necklaces; Ugg boots, short skirts, and make up. I picked up every teen magazine, and over night, my image changed. I became head cheerleader, ran for class president and won, and charmed the teachers with my grades and my smile.

But every time I spoke, my parent's eyes would glaze over. Every time I called their attention, they wouldn't look up from their papers. Every time I came home crying, they simply shrugged it off and said I would want to be alone.

Their approval was, and is all that matters to me. It sounds weird coming from a teenager, but everyday I wake up, and my instant thought is "How can I impress them today?"

That is, until I met him.