I walk through the campus quad, acutely aware of the eyes boring holes into the back of my sweatshirt. At the far side of the grass, I find a shady place to spend yet another hour in solitary. I sit, silently watching the activity before me. I want to get involved, to be accepted. Shoot, Iíd even settle for tolerated.
Why are you staring at me? I look away, unnerved a bit by the look of condescension on your perfectly powdered face.
You see an overachieving geek.
Inside there is a brilliant mind, pining for another thinker with whom I can contemplate and philosophize. Together we could solve the worldís problems over lousy cafeteria food.
You see a mousy kid with stage fright who got stuck in drama class. (You can thank my guidance counselor for that one.)
Inside there is a showman! I know all of the lyrics from Guys and Dolls by heart. I could do the footwork from West Side Story in my sleep! My cat is my only audience, watching as I sing into my hairbrush at my bedroom mirror. I long for the day I can step out on a stage without having the sudden urge to hurl.
You see a klutz who wears her sisterís hand-me-down gym clothes to P.E.
Inside, well, I could care less about sports. Youíve heard it said that all jocks share a brain? I think whoever said it may be right. The whole mess of them canít come up with an original insult to save their lives. I should know. Iím usually the brunt of them.
You see a shy wallflower in the corner, trying with all her might to blend in to the scenery.
Inside is a confident young woman who knows what she wants and isnít afraid to pursue it. I break away from the cheesy prom decorations and ask Mark Zimmerman if he wants to dance. I love this song. It could be our song.
You see a misfit, displaced in the echelons of the high school food chain.
Inside is a work in progress. I know Iím not all that, but I am comforted knowing God isnít finished with me yet.
Standing here in front of me, you think you see me as I am. You donít really see me at all, do you?
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