This is something I’m working on, it’s still the first draft. The religious link hasn’t come yet, be patient!

“If you keep this up, Ally, you’re going to flunk!” my math teacher strictly said.

I turned away without answering. I knew she thought me rude, but I couldn’t get myself to answer. It was just too much trouble. I knew I was flunking math, but I couldn’t apply myself. Even though my mom’s brilliant at math, I’m not. I’m not good at anything, really. I like history, but I can’t remember dates and other (important) small details. Same goes for geography. I used to like science, until I flunked it. Physics was too hard for me, no matter how hard I tried. I can’t do languages because I can’t memorize. The only thing I’m good in is English. I can read and write okay, I guess.

I walked outside. It was freezing, but I didn’t care. I’d rather sit outside in the cold, alone, than in the cafeteria where I’d have to pretend to be nice. At home, I went about silently and morosly. My parents couldn’t remember when they had seen me laugh last, and I knew I scared my little brother. It was just one thing I couldn’t seem to help.

And it wasn’t even as if I had any reason to feel depressed, anyway! I live in a nice home, have enough money and loving parents. I couldn’t blame this on hardship or a dysfunctional family –although God knows I wanted to!

Life has just been to hard ever since I entered my junior year. My old group of friends had fallen apart, and I just couldn’t seem to make new ones. For some reason, I wasn’t sleeping well, which affected my grades and my ability to study.

Pretty soon, lunch was over and it was time for my favorite class, art. I used to like art, I always tried to make something beautiful. I finally had to accept my lack of talent, however, I could never recreate the beautiful things I saw in my mind. I now spend my time with black paint: it fits my mood perfectly. The teacher hasn’t said anything yet; I don’t think she’s noticed.

“Okay class, settle down. Today’s lesson is about color. You all have to pick a color and use that in your painting. Black is not allowed, however,” so maybe she had noticed after all, “ so try to find a way to create shadows and light without using other colors.”

If I couldn’t use black, what then? A smile played around my lips, as I caught hold of the next best thing: dark blue. This particular shade was so dark it was almost black, and yet I hadn’t broken any rules. As you may have noticed, I like having my own way.

As the class ended, I stepped away from my easel, satisfied. It may not have been worthy to hang in the Tate Gallery, it was better than I’d done it quite a long time. And my spirit felt uplifted as well. I actually smiled at the teacher while leaving the classroom.

After yet another boring History class, I caught the bus home and went straight for the kitchen. I grabbed the cookie jar and was just about to put a hand inside when I heard my little brother, “Mom says not to eat cookies before dinner.”

“Oh yeah?” I answered, “that’s because you’ll spoil your appetite. But I’m a lot bigger, so I have more appetite and I even have room for cookies.” I left the room to his squeals of, “That’s not fair! Mom!” and went up the stairs to my room. I have the attic bedroom. I love being under the eaves, at the very top of the house. My parents don’t bother me about the state of my room since I keep it fairly tidy anyway. It was a bit of a mess right now, though, so I spent the time before dinner cleaning it up. When my mom called me for dinner, I was just about done. I came downstairs with a cheerful look on my face and even helped to set the table. My mom looked at me in amazement.

“What?” I finally said, when I had gotten tired of her look.

“You’re cheerful,” she said, then turned her back to me and went on preparing dinner.

I looked at her back, and realized she was right. And it felt good