*one new message*
Even though I've had this blog since 7th grade, my heart jumps every time I see that notification. Will this finally be one of my followers talking to me? Or just another computer generated virus waiting to destroy my life? The serial killer my mom always warned me about? Historically, it's been the second. I placed my peanut-butter filled spoon down on my desk and opened the message.
GottaBolt: Hey. I've read your blog for a few months now and I don't really care if this sounds creepy or lame but it's honestly what I look forward to every day. Did you really have a nip slip at church? I'd die.
Interesting. So, it wasn't the second one. Could still be the third, maybe a mixture of one and three? Either way wow, I've never had anyone say that before. Typically, the messages I get are either half-assed hellos or spam messages from someone selling something. It doesn't bother me at all though, my blog is just me ranting about how awkward and embarrassing I am while I pray to God himself that no one I know in real life will ever find it. Much to my surprise it's gained quite a following over the years. Last month I hit the milestone 5,000 followers and I get around that many reads per entry. Not that I could (or would) ever take responsibility for that. I've used a fake name since I started this thing, just to ensure that no one will know it's me. I chose the name "Norah" as a result of my long lived, not quite dead yet, Norah Jones phase. I've never uploaded a picture of my face on this blog either. Only pictures of my cat, Rey, and the occasional outfit only from the neck down. Yet still, people follow me. I guess my ranting about hating everything that I possibly could can be entertaining. It really does not make sense, if I'm going to be completely honest.
Now what should I respond. This is always the toughest part for me, especially because I don't even have the skill of talking to people in real life without sounding or doing something stupid. I feel like I come across as too mean or stuck up, but it's only because I can't talk to people without my tongue forcing itself down my throat. The only person I've ever really felt comfortable talking to is my best friend Taylor, and that's only because she's just as unlikable and awkward as I am.
Norahble: Thank you so much wow! And yeah long story short, strapless maxi dresses and steps aren't a good match in God's house when you're as clumsy as I am.
That's how it started. From there on GottaBolt, aka Dan, and I talked every day for weeks. I'm not really one for making internet friends, but for some reason talking to him was easy. It wasn't crazy awkward or exciting. We didn't even really talk about big things happening in our lives. Just times that we have completely embarrassed ourselves to death and what we ate that day. It was just so comforting to have someone I could talk to and not worry about saying the wrong thing and then having to see them everyday, which is something I've always struggled with with my best friend, Taylor. It's so weird when you think about it. This stranger on the internet knows more about me than her, yet I wouldn't have it any other way.
"Gabby!" My mom yelled from downstairs, "Are you ready yet? Taylor is outside!"
Um no, I was not ready. Why do I always sit in bed every morning on tumblr instead of getting ready? Do I really love to torture myself that much? I thought about skipping, but it was the first day back from winter break and I definitely could not convince my mom to let me stay home. I jumped up and looked in the mirror. I stared my dark brown eyes down, was this really all I have to work with? I sighed and pulled my tangled, probably greasy, thick brown curls up into a slightly sideways bun. Not my best look I know, but with the given materials and time frame that's usually all I could ever come up with in the morning. Next, I shuffled my feet over to my closet and looked over my options. My wide array of sweats stared me down. I reached for leggings and my school's hoodie. With the bobcat mascot stretched across my chest, I brushed my teeth and ran downstairs.
"Gabriella, are you seriously going out looking like that?" My mom hissed at me through her red lips while she grabbed my arm, "You look hideous." Her eyes looked me up and down in disbelief, as if I just told her to go screw herself.
My older sister, Sara, pulled my mom's arm off of me. She turned her head, her perfectly straightened silky hair turning with it, "Mom, seriously? Who the hell cares what she wears, it's just high school."
Sara was twenty-five and already a top nurse at the local hospital here in Albuquerque. Although she is a striking mirror image of our mother, she never did share mom's less desired qualities. While mom hated everyone who wasn't a cookie-cutter J Crew model, Sara has always loved people who express themselves the way they want to. She is the nicest person I've ever met in my entire life. Sara knows how horribly my mother and I get along, so she moved back home until I graduate so our little suburban house won't become No Man's Land.
Mom's eyes filled with rage as she turned to Sara and started yelling. I sighed, the last thing I wanted was to have this fight again so I grabbed an apple off the kitchen counter and ran out the door. Running threw our yard to get to her car she still yelled at me, though I seriously could not tell you what she said. When my mother gets like this the only thing my senses do is go away. I've learned enough in my seventeen years to know better than to argue with that woman at seven in the morning. Or anytime, for that matter. Even on the milder days like that one, I just can't stand being around her.
"Jeez. Well I'm not gonna change," Taylor said to me as I sat inside her car. She was wearing the same hoodie as I was, school mascot and all.
I stared into her bobcat's eyes, "Well I'm not going back in there." I tilted my head towards my house.
She sighed, "That bad, huh?" I nodded. Taylor and I have been friends since our first day of middle school when we both took classroom Jeopardy way too seriously. We ended up screaming in each other's face about capital cities and we, well she, slapped her hand so hard across my face my cheekbone was bruised for a week. Sure enough, we both loved Harry Potter and hated all the other girls in our class, so naturally we became friends. If there is one thing Taylor knows after all this time, it's that my mother's expectations of me and who I am are from totally different planets. Rather than being the beautiful and outgoing girl she was I am the average looking shy girl she would have given swirlies to in high school. I'm just some alien figure who actually reads and studies who lives in the same house as her and if she's lucky, she'll even get the chance to remind that alien that it is an utter disappointment to her.
"You've got to be kidding me." I think to myself as my skin began to crawl. Every month in chemistry we have a new lab partner. The last two months I was lucky enough to be by myself and then with Kelsey, a girl who I had gone to school with since kindergarten and was at least civil with. This month however, I'm paired up with Ms. Sharpay Evans, otherwise known as the girl who has made my life a living hell since we were toddlers. I looked at the list again in disbelief and then to my new seat, only to find Sharpay glaring at me.
I walked over. Sharpay's blue eyes still darting into me. I could never tell you why she hates me so much, but she has since the moment we met. It was in middle school and because we were wearing the same shirt, she pushed my face into the dirt for "copying" her. I swear I picked rocks out of my hair for weeks. She's basically been a bitch since day one, but because she is pretty and dominant over everyone she meets she has managed to become homecoming queen for all of her years at East High. She's also been the lead of every school production, club, and fundraiser with absolutely no competition from the rest of the student body. Not only that, she has had the impressive feat of dating all of the school's star athletes at least once. For the past six months, that's been Troy Bolton. Sharpay Evans was an unstoppable tornado who, without any second thought, would rip your house completely out of the ground and leave you for the vultures.
"Hey did you look in the mirror at all this morning? Or was this seriously the best you could come up with?" She looked me up and down. I sunk into my seat. This will be a fun month. As if I don't get enough reminders at home of how undesirable I am. Suddenly, I got nervous for my grades. How does one focus on ions when your worst nightmare is sitting right next to you? How can you balance equations when all you hear are insults? I swear to God, if this bitch thinks that she can mess with my GPA, she's got another thing coming.
After a long, torturous hour, I finally was able to get the hell out of there in one piece. I walked over to my locker, counting the red and white tiles as I looked down, and met up with Taylor who, unsurprisingly, laughed at my misfortune. "That's so fucking funny. Please fight her? I need something exciting to happen."
"I want to fight her so bad. But please, imagine me fighting for one second."
She laughed to himself and then patted me on the head, "A little shorty like you? You'll have to jump to reach her face."
I laughed too, "She'd claw my eyes out and still be head cheerleader. The school will throw a goddamn parade in her honor."
Even on my worst days, Taylor is always there to make me feel better. For some reason her attitude makes me feel happy. When my dog died, Taylor didn't say she was sorry or anything like that. All she did was make fun of me for getting two points less than her on a math quiz. Weirdly, it's always been that shitty, arrogant attitude that reminds me of what an amazing friend she is.
*one new message*
My phone beeped and I quickly reached into my pocket to answer it. I smiled and opened the message. Sure enough, it was Dan. Taylor rolled her eyes, "Is your eighty-year-old sugar daddy serial killer really texting you again? At this hour? You haven't told him you name or anything specific, right?"
I snickered, "No I haven't and for your information, he's seventeen. Do you know any serial killers our age? Or anyone who can afford a sugar baby for that matter?"
Taylor shut my locker door, accidentally slamming it in the process. The sound echoed across the hall and soon the closest teacher yelled at us for being disruptive. She sighed and looked me straight in the eyes, "Listen, Gabs. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. Especially right before mid-terms."
"Colombia isn't going to decide what they think of me from one calculus test, Tay." I rolled my eyes. While everyone around me, including Taylor, were getting acceptance letters left and right, I still hadn't heard back from any. To Taylor that meant I was a failure and was not going to get in anywhere, especially not my top choice, Colombia.
We walked to our next class, AP English, together. Much to her's and most of our class's dismay, were reading Shakespeare's "Othello". I had read it that previous summer and was pretty much flying through this book. I've never been one for public speaking- or anything- but my teacher, Ms. Reynolds, always made me lead the discussions because I was the only one who knew what the hell I was talking about. If it wasn't for Taylor sitting next to me, I would have 100% dropped the class.
"So, how was everyone's winter break? Please tell me you didn't forget about Othello." Ms. Reynolds pleaded. Her yellow-orange ringlets were pulled into a ponytail today. As much as I hate to admit it, she really did look like Ms. Frizzle. Her wardrobe consisted only of below-the-knee length skirts with zany patterns and sweater sets. Today, she was wearing a bright pink skirt plastered in dinosaurs, every single kind. Taylor always made fun of her outfits but I've always admired her ability to be herself. It must really take guts to dress like that in a building full of self-absorbed teenagers. "Did anyone go anywhere exciting?" She asked.
"The Land Before Time," a voice called from the back row. To no ones surprise, it was Chad Danforth. Basketball star, asshole extraordinaire. The class exploded in laughter and even Ms. Reynolds laughed. Well, everyone except for one.
"Chad stop being a dick." The blue eyed boy called out. Troy Bolton. Basketball star, less of an asshole extraordinaire. Unlike his best friend, Troy actually pretended to care about other people. I say pretend, well, because judging from his actions that's what I can assume. Yes, he would occasionally stand up for the kid being thrown into the dumpster, but after it happened he would go chug beer with the kids who did the throwing. He never bullied I guess, but he was more of an accomplice. He just sat back and watched everything his friends did as if it didn't really bother him. For this he was labelled a "good guy", but personally I don't see anything good about only hanging out with people who think calling girls "fat sluts" and boys "pussies" a grand ole time.
Of course, Chad has never called me that. The only people I'm sure know my name at this school are Taylor and Sharpay, and she only knows it so she can make call me ugly. So technically, you could say I don't have a reason to be so resentful of assholes. It just doesn't seem right to me. What can I say.
I knew that if I ran home before my mom came home I'd be able to write and post in peace. This one was short, I only wrote about my unfortunate encounter with Sharpay, but I was sure to make it as vague as possible in case she somehow got her hands on it. After it was live for an hour, I got a message.
Gottabolt: yikes. I read your last post. Tough day at the office?
Norahble: Oh no dear, it was just a typical fight with my mom and my new lab partner is a total "see you next Tuesday". Nothing I can't handle though. How about you? Any new nemeses I should know about? Do I need to fight anyone?
GottaBolt: Depends. Can you take down a two hundred pound man who has spent his entire life playing every sport known to man?
Norahble: You'd be surprised what two classes of karate can teach a six year old girl. What's up with your dad? More basketball stuff?
GottaBolt: He wants me to try out for captain this season, and I really could not imagine anything worse. If you could do whatever you wanted without your mom getting in the way, what'd you do?
Huh. Dan had never really gotten so philosophical with me before that. Sure, we'd talked about things that have bothered us but we both have learned to just brush those comments off. I didn't really know what to say back, mostly because I never really thought of it. Sure, I'd love to eventually publish my writing, but my mom has already planned for me to be a nurse like Sara. And according to all my college applications, that's what I'm going to end up doing. I sighed and replied.
Norahble: Honestly? I only want to be able to eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's in sweatpants without hearing how fat and unattractive I'm becoming. How about you?
GottaBolt: It's so embarrassing.
Norahble: Pleasee do tell.
GottaBolt: I'd do something crazy, like be in a play or something like that. Or sing somewhere that's not my shower. Just not basketball.
Norahble: Wow Dan, I never expected you to go all thespian on me.
GottaBolt: Don't be a dick, Norah.
Norahble: I'm not being anything. I just didn't think you'd want that type of attention, really. I hope you get to though. That's what college is for, right? Did you hear back from NYU yet?
GottaBolt: Nope. And if my dad finds out I even applied he'd kill me.
Norahble: Well it's your life Dan. And you can't sit around and have your dad dictate every single move you make. It's depressing, really.
GottaBolt: That's easy for you to say, princess.
Princess? What the hell did that mean?
Norahble: No. It's really not, your majesty. You have no idea what it's like living with my mom.
Gottabolt: Yeah? Try having your dad control every single thing in your life from your friends to even your fucking girlfriend. I'm not fighting with you, Norah. I'm just being real. I can't go to school for theatre in the same way you can't dress the way you want. Difference is my problems actually effect the way the rest of my life is going to turn out. Sorry you can't wear sweats in peace.
He'd never really gotten mad at me before that.
Norahble: Look Dan, it's not like that's the only thing that she gets on me about. I'm just not one to talk about actual problems because it makes me and other people uncomfortable. Whatever. I can tell you don't want to talk to me right now. Bye.
I threw my phone onto my bed and laid down. I hate the way I talk to people. I really do. I can never actually talk about what's really bothering me, and I know that makes me sound like an ungrateful snob. I really do. I just don't want people to think I'm crazy, if that makes any sense. If Dan thought I was a spoiled brat, and he only knew the things about me that I told him about, then what does Taylor think of me? Or Sara? I sunk into my mattress, and a tear began to roll down my cheek. Here I go again, I thought.
