Snob vs. Skank

Dear Diary,

This is my chance. My chance to look the part and fit in, even though I will never be the same as everyone else, and they will always be oblivious as to why.

Not everything is a 'dear diary' moment. Some things you wish you could rub out and forget. But that can't always happen.


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2. Lilith

It's the start of a new school term, and I'm dreading it.

I would enjoy school if it weren't for the people in my year. Some of them aren't too bad, but the rest just muck around, talk back to the teachers, stay out late getting drunk. We're only in Year 10, for goodness sake! You go to school to learn, but they don't see it like that. They just mess everything up. How am I supposed to get a job in the future if my grades are being ruined by these idiots?

"Lilith, are you ready?"

That's my mum, warning me that I should leave now if I don't want to be late. I sigh, scraping my hair back into a ponytail. I clutter downstairs and traipse to the bus stop. Let the misery begin. 

                                                **********************************

"Lilith is such a skank!" someone whispers indiscreetly as soon as I step onto the crowded bus. Laughter follows, but I struggle to keep a careless face as slump into a seat. I might not be from a rich family, but we have enough. I act like I don't care - I'm not fussed about expensive clothes and new gadgets. But words hurt, and the bullies know. It's not my fault I can't afford to comply with their standards.

The bus shudders to a stop. I tread quickly, into the warmth radiating from the school heaters. The smell of over-cooked school dinners hits me and I try not to gag. I quicken my pace down the corridors, but being the clumsy fool that I am, I end up crashing straight into someone.

"I'm so sorry!" I cry, and then cringe at my squeaky voice. But the stranger just nods and carries on walking. New guy, I think. At least he doesn't seem like a bully.

The 'cool bunch' arrive at registration ten minutes late, laughing loudly and snapping their gum in an irritating manner. It takes all of my strength not to leap up and slap them round their make-up-smeared faces. They just don't care about anything. I care about everything, too much. And that's why I won't fit in.

"Open your books to page 72," the teacher announces drily. I grab my exercise book and begin to read, but I am soon interrupted by a crumpled piece of paper crashing into my shoulder. I sigh, unfold the note. It's more abuse, and I'm sick of it.

I shove back my seat and march out of the classroom, slamming the note into the bin as I go. Maybe I don't care anymore either.

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