I Am Lavern

--Winner of the Dear Diary Competition-- Prepare for rants, opinions, my life, and the general ramblings of an 8th grader (update: 9th grader) who lives in the smack dab middle of South Carolina.


72. 07/08/2016

3:35 PM

Okay, so this dairy entry is going to be a sequel to the mumble I just posted which, long story short, was my coming out mumble, such a strange phrase, about me being bi. 

As Le Fox said, #bibuds. 

Anyway, let's get down and dirty into the story part of it. The her, if you will. There was this new girl (it sounds like a freakin 1D fan fic, I know), and I just felt bad for her because it was a pretty small private school. Or maybe it was fate, going with the fan fic theme. She's different than a lot of people I know. She likes rock music, the color black, and hates the way she looks, bent on the next exercise and diet. However, I didn't figure out half of that stuff until after Christmas break. So, I still mainly hang out with my bff since I was five, but I also talk to this girl on a more regular basis.

Then, comes an event - out grade goes on a field trip. On this field trip, again I'm simplifying, my other friends made fun of this girl, and I told her. I had to make a decision: her or my old friends. I choose her. We would sit at lunch together with some out casts from the grade bellow us, and we talked non stop. Everything's still normal. Some other stuff goes down, but I just think of it as a friendship, which it is.

Then comes summer. On the last day of school, I took my Polaroid camera and snapped several pictures, one of them of her. Ever since we hugged goodbye, I've kept one of them in my phone case, hidden away until I find myself looking at it. I just miss her as a friend, I think. We talk over email and text, keeping it light and fluffy.

Then, my texts run out, limiting our conversation. I send the email to Sam stating my sudden possible realization. We're up to about a week ago now. She sends funny group messages to me and a few of her friends from other schools. Sometimes they're drawings or projects or, in this case, a picture of her in a dress he mom gave her, laughing through text about how it would have been funny if she wore it to our dance. I'm not going to talk about how she usually wears clunkly clothes or whatever but.... yeah. I figuratively put my hands up in defeat and reached a certain stomach dropping realization.

Except it's a little more complicated.

Before the dress picture, she said that she needed me to pretend not to know her, know anything about her. She needed space. We had been texting regularly, but I was surprised, doubtful. I told her, sure whatever you need, complete with a smiley face to show I really was cool. I'm not. I'm not going to involve her in any of this shit. She has enough to worry about her. I'm just not going to talk to her for as long as I can bear it. 

So, there's the whole story, in all of is uncomplete-ness. 



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