Don't Judge a Book by its Cover

Wannabe Gangsters

Savannah POV

I hung up the last photo on my wall. It had taken my whole summer, a couple gallons of purple, black, blue and red paints, and some real creativity, but my room was officially my own now. I had the walls painted in a base lavender-ish colour, with splatter designs of all the other colours. Not to be conceited or anything, but... it was hot. Really.

But anyway, school started back tomorrow. I was starting my senior year surrounded by strangers. Lovely. I wondered what my new school woud be like for a second, but then stopped wondering. It would be the same as always. The populars, the geeks, the wannabe gangsters, the preps, the sports freaks, the group that didn't quite fit in anywhere else... The same as always. I'd be in the last set, of course. I was one of the very few people in the world who didn't care if I wore neon orange, green, and purple in the same outfit to go in public, much to the chagrin of my mom. I considered putting on a horribly clashy outfit like that for school tomorrow, just to annoy her.

I decided against it, though. There were plenty of days in the year to wear ridiculous clothing when I wasn't meeting the principal. But then, on the other hand, if people were going to think I was a freak, better to let them form their impressions early, right?

I frowned. Decent-ish. I'd dress decent-ish. Not perfectly colour co-ordinated, but nothing that would make animals and small children afraid. Then I frowned again. Since when was I so concerned about school clothes anyway? Who exactly did I want to impress?

A little voice in my head told me exactly who I wanted to impress. I told that little voice to go shove it. I supposed I was just a bit nervous about starting over. But then, as I said, all the schools were the same anyway. Sitting on my bed, I realised something. Who said I couldn't be student body president? So what if I was going to a new school? All I had to do was make sure people knew who I was. Of course, it would sure help to have friends who could help me make posters and speeches, but... I didn't need them. I'd just put in a little extra work.

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Mystery POV

Dear diary,

He says I'm getting fat. In fact, he doesn't say it, he yells it. For the past couple of weeks, he's been at me about my weight and that I'm getting fat and lazy and he already wastes enough money on me without me eating everything I can freaking find in the house. But you know, strangely, I've actually been eating less lately. Everything in the house just seems so unappealing. And when I do eat, I can hardly keep anything down. I think it's the flu or something. And I've been a lot sleepier, too, lately. I guess all the time I spend asleep is the reason I'm gaining weight.

I just looked in the mirror. He's right. My belly is huge. I look bloated. For some reason, I can't even suck it in to try and look normal. I'm so ugly. I wanted to throw up, just looking at myself in the mirror. I haven't left the house in a week, because I have a black eye and I don't know how to explain it away. I can't believe that there's people who actually like an ugly loser like me. He told me that mom killed herself because she couldn't stand to look at me anymore. I'm starting to see just how right he is. I guess I really do deserve it all, you know, because if it weren't for me, mom would still be alive. Now I feel horrible. I'm crying right now. Why do I even write in you, diary? I always feel awful afterwards. I'm going to sleep. I have school tomorrow. Goodnight.

 Love always,

The one that survived. <3

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