Something Wiki Read Online Free PDF

Somehow I don’t think a makeover is going to get me runway-ready.
    Stacey jokes around a lot about clothes and makeup like she doesn’t care about them. She says that’s Becca’s thing. But she definitely knows how to turn it on when she wants to, that glamour/style thing that I have absolutely no sense of. I think I was born without that particular button.
    To be completely honest, I think Stacey dresses kind of boring. I mean I know I don’t look pretty or popular or even cute most of the time, but I think that dressing a little bit differently is sort of cool. I mean, not cool cool, but, I don’t know … unique?
    Z used to have lots of friends over to the house when he was in high school. I don’t remember too much from back then, but I sometimes used to sneak down to the basement to spy on Z and his friends, teenagers who looked like giants. They were a totally different species — talking about bands and movies I’d never heard of, wearing bright, wild clothes, laughing hysterically at jokes I knew I’d never understand — and I was so afraid they’d catch me looking at them and think I was a creep.
    But I wanted to look at them.
    All I wanted to do was look at them.
    I was fascinated. Maybe a little obsessed. Probably a creep.
    They just all seemed to be perfectly themselves and not afraid of anything. And that’s what I wanted to be.
    When Z moved out for university, he left a lot of his old high-school stuff at home, like those Saved by the Bell tapes. I found his old T-shirts and baseball caps, and I started wearing them as soon as I was big enough, even though most of his shirts looked like dresses on me. They were mostly band T-shirts and some shirts with slogans on them. Jokes I didn’t really get, though I pretended I understood.
    I’ve never really gotten to know my brother that well, but I guess I’ve always sort of looked up to him. I know I should want to wear girly stuff and makeup and be more like Stacey and the rest of the girls at school, but mostly I just don’t care. I used to wish I had a big sister to teach me all about this stuff, or wish that Mom cared more about stupid things like hair and clothes. I guess I do still wish for those things sometimes. Or maybe it’s just that I know I’m supposed to want them. But most of the time I just don’t care that much about being a girl. A girl like Stacey, anyway. But I sometimes wonder if there’s something wrong with me for not caring about that stuff. For not bothering to make myself pretty if I want someone — read: boys — to like me.
    Boys definitely like Stacey, there’s no question. At least three guys in our class have crushes on her, but Stacey doesn’t like any of them back. I don’t get that. If I knew someone had a crush on me, I think I’d pretty much automatically like them back. As long as they weren’t totally weird. Does that make me desperate or something? It’s kind of hard to say since the whole thing is a non-issue. I am totally unlikeable. Or at least I am as long as my face keeps looking like the surface of Mars.
    (Which it seriously does. I looked it up on wonderful Wiki: bright red, and covered in bumps and craters.)
    But sometime between now and when I get old and die, I’ll probably find someone who wants to kiss me. Or do whatever it is that people who like each other do together.
    Not what Z and J did, though.
    Ew.
    I had my first serious crush last summer, on Declan Walsh. I met him at the overnight arts camp my parents made me go to. He was in the music group, he played guitar, and I was in creative writing. But apart from doing sessions where we worked on whatever our art was, everyone at camp had do other activities, too, like arts and crafts, and we had that session at the same time.
    I remember when I first saw him across the table in the arts and crafts hut, fiddling with an orange guitar pick and