You know that feeling you get, when you see two people together…and you can just… sense…how right they are for each other. And it makes you happy. Not really happy for them, just…happy. Because you look at them, and you just know, you know that there is nothing wrong with what they have; that they’re perfect…for each other. Even if they’re not together yet, if they haven’t admitted anything yet, you still know. Their eyes meet from across the room, and it makes you smile. They accidentally brush hands when reaching for something, and you get a jolt of glee, because it just seems so right.

I wish I could feel that way all the time.

Popularity wasn’t really an issue where I went to school, because I didn’t, go to school, that is. Well, I did, but not in the, yellow bus, red apple, tardy bell, kind of way. Officially, I was home schooled, but once a week, Mum and me would drive out to this little church on the edge of town, and I would go to various classes provided there.

The parents of other home-scholars would teach the classes, and they were usually lenient, upbeat, and fun to be taught by, which was perfectly fine by me, and, as I take it, the other kids as well. Those of us that were in classes taught by our parents (not me, I’d rather die) enjoyed (endured) that precious limbo between being the teacher’s pet (favorite guinea pig) and the scapegoat (bane of our parents existence). During the first year of my attendance, I had a literature teacher who was pregnant, a science teacher who dragged her son to the front of the class at every opportunity, and a drama/choir teacher who was trying desperately to be fair to the other students, but her kids were talented, so, what do you do?

I also made so precarious friendships during my time there, half of which fell through during the first month, and the other half of which are trying hard not to (a little too hard, if you ask me). Despite my overall goal to befriend my preferred species (guys), the majority dismissed me, and the girls won over. Not that I mind them (girls) much, I just hate getting sucked into the world of dating and makeup, which I do, more often than not. That’s one of the reasons I liked public school (yes, I did go there, once upon a time…), there’s more variety.

You see, at C.O.O.L. (co-op of learning cough dorky cough) there is very, very, very, little variety. The girls are either super girly Christians, or rebellious idiots, neither of which are my cup of tea (all though I do like tea, yum). I did join a sorority though (I’m still a little confused as to how that happened, but I’m putting it under my “list of stupid, and campy things I’ve done”), and they’re a strange group, those girls. Still, they were my friends, good ones, and I even had some outside the Sisterhood.

Mary Beth (Embie), and Ruth, come immediately to mind. Often mistaken for twins, they were two years apart (they’re sisters), with even farther apart personalities.

The only person I’ve made any strong connection too, though, is Embie and Ruthie’s brother, Daniel. (Friend? Yes.

Crush? Yes. Boyfriend? Pfft, how the hell am I supposed to know? He tells me nothing.) Although he isn’t the “would jump off a cliff if you did” sort of friend, he’s still pretty loyal, and an over all good guy. He was one of my four first picks of the co-op.

Oh, come on, you know what I mean! On my first day there, I looked around the room and picked out four guys, (great looking, but different types) and then made it my goal to talk to each one of them. It wasn’t really a “live or die” goal, but I did like them all, so, what the hell, right?

(Thought I was going to say, “wrong!” here, didn’t you? Well you were “wrong!”. Ha ha.)

The other three were all, either stupid, sluty, or mean, not qualities I’m particularly fond of. Daniel, as it turned out, was none of these. Instead, he was shy, artistic, moody, funny, and on the odd occasion, even playful (he also looks absolutely adorable in a pair of bunny ears…long story).

But despite the loyalty and trust I was slowly (very, very, slowly) creating with these people, there was one this about me that I kept private. Not that they’d have believed me if I’d told them, it seems more and more ludicrous every day, but, never the less, it’s true.

Hello, my name is Ruby, and I’m a Goth.