It was fun, I say, bubbling with retarded excitement. The wind whips by me, lifting my filmy skirt, and swirling it around my waist, before snapping it down. The catcalls and whistles are piercing, but I smile, ever poised, and grin back flirtatiously. My embarrassed face doesn't flush, but locks into a smile. My friends circle around me, laughing. I giggle too, and yammer on about fun.

I stand in a corner, blending into the walls. My face is a grizzled pink, flushed with permanent humiliation. I fidget with my dirty hair, and nibble on my bleeding nails. I stare at the ticking of my broken watch. My drab skirt is stained, and my shoes are cracking in half. The wind smothers me with its bitter chills, and gustily ruffles my limply messy hair.

I smooth my silky blond hair, burnished to a sunny gold. My friends yap on about someone's birthday shopping spree. I nod and grin brightly, bopping along to the general hum of the conversation. My eyes flicker over my friends, all thin and sparkly. They dazzle with their revealing fashions and upbeat, carefree, boring lives. The flirty blonds, the vivacious brunettes, the coy redheads. Their superficial lives and lies surround me, choking me.

I tug at my knotted ashy-blonde hair, and peer out of my majorly myopic eyes. I can't afford glasses. I vaguely see a clique of pretty girls, sparkly and slender. They pout about make-up, and act as if getting dumped is a national disaster. They screech hellos. I hungrily devour their casual beauty before drawing back inside. Inside me, a stringy bean of a girl. My twisted secrets are eating me, choking me.

My eyes finish their tour of my friends. Then, bored, prowl on for more meat to dissect. Secrets and lies continue to choke me as my eyes thread their way into and out of each person I see. Then I come to a wall. No, wait. There's a person there, shadowy and only half-visible. She is plain, almost ugly. Her restless eyes dart from her stringy hair to her chomped-on cuticles, and back again. She seems interesting, not stocked with petty secrets. I stare at her.

I lift my pale hand, and gnaw on my thumbnail. I haven't since breakfast. It begins to bleed. I lick the blood casually, and stuff my hand into a holey pocket. I raise my eyes to look upon that pretty group of girls again. Their trivial disputes soothe my ragged soul. I drag my eyes past each face, until I reach a blurred blonde's head. She seemed different from her trifling friends. She's looking at me. I wonder if she can see past my shabby appearance.

That girl is a skinny little thing. I'd kill to have her waist. Her hair is gross, all matted and sweaty. Her skirt is more patches then material. She's poor, obviously. Her eyes are compelling; they seem to draw light towards them. They are big and luminous… and they are looking at me. She sees me staring, but just stares back. She seems hardened and tough, as if nothing will faze her. I am drawn to her sunken face, and after smiling an excuse to my friends, I trickle towards her. My heart pumps ahead, and my body streams after, in a blur of emotions.

The blonde who seems so different from her friends is still looking at me. Her unashamed stare makes me want to squirm, but I leave the flips to my heart. My face is loyal, and doesn't betray the nervousness that is screaming in my brain. I can feel the blonde's heated gaze flutter over me. I'm sure she's taking in my tattered exterior, and will soon curve her mouth into a sneer. Then she'll whip around to her friends, and they'll have a laugh. But no. This one is different. She distractedly talks to her clique for a second, before dazedly walking up to… me.

I'm halfway between that shrunken shadow of a girl and my bright, bubbly friends. As I swirled away from my petty pals, I felt liberated. But now, away from their fickle protection, the heartless reality of society catches up to me and blows her icy breath down my spine. Head bowed, I recognize her cold force, but refuse to give in. I slide across the yard to where this girl is standing.

Oh my God. The blonde is actually approaching me. As she sinks into the hissing pot of students, I trail my eyes after her. Oh, who am I kidding? The blonde is probably going to see her boyfriend, that football captain. Or maybe she's sliming up to a teacher, beaming her bright smile on them. She's sucking up for a chance to win some prize, right? Wrong. She's heading, arrow straight, at me.

I'm a meter in front of her now. I'm so close I can see the puffs of air that emerge with her raspy breath. I try a smile, but though it'll spread smooth as honey with my friends, my lips are stuck together with nervousness. I clear my throat, but only a gross phlegmy sound emerges. Anxiously, I run a hand through my hair. It feels oily. Damn, I should have showered. Okay, I look stupid. I have to talk. What words do I know? Uh…firefighter. What the hell? No, that won't work. Hello. Right, okay. My voice scratches out hoarsely, "Hello".

The blonde spins up to me. She stands there for a while, fidgeting. My face reddens to a hot pink. I quickly look down. The blonde's shoes are there, shiny ballet flats. Her legs are bare, up to the hem of her gauzy skirt, which flutters around her knees. Her top is tight, a cap-sleeved baby-T. I force myself to drag my eyes up. There, I did it. I'm looking in her eyes, big and nervous. I bite my scabby lip, and I feel the metallic taste of blood ooze onto my tongue. As I offer a smile, she rasps out hello.

Why am I so nervous? It's just another person, just another conversation. I finally stretch my well-glossed lips into a smile. She croaks out a quiet greeting, nibbling away at her chapped lips. Ew. It's too gross. I could just leave, and smirk and sashay back to my friends. It's just so weird. As I slowly back off to return to the thin protection of my friends, she speaks. Quiet and hoarse, she shyly squeaks. Bubbling out of her emaciated body is a hushed stream of bitter secrets. She can't seem to stop. The sheer wrongness of it all is so much it engulfs her frail body. I'm frozen on the spot, listening, and completely horrified.

The blonde finally smiles. It's bizarre. I lick my lips, and start to gnaw on them. Flaky skin sticks in my mouth. I grip my hands tight together behind my back. I can feel every bone in them, fragile, about to snap. The blonde is getting uncomfortable. Why wouldn't she? A perfect princess actually conversing with the school's hushquiet shadow? Unthinkable. But I want to make her stay. As I see her feet itching to dash away, I start to talk. I blurt the most interesting thing I can think of. My secrets. Those vicious, brutal mysteries of mine tumble out of my mouth. What am I thinking? Revealing my deepest, darkest secrets to a stranger.

It's just sick. I mean, totally wrong. Now I miss the bubble gum pink perfection of my friends' lives. Those secrets are horrible. They're painful and bitter, and I'm just so, so sorry for her. I'm staring at the ground now, embarrassed with my own good fortune. She is finally finished talking, and I sweep her face with my eyes. It's a mask of acceptance and placidity, but there's a flicker of emotion burying it's way to the innermost layers of her soul. I need to catch that flicker, and burst it open, before it contaminates her spirit again.

By the time I'm finished baring my soul, and stretching it to an impeccably clear canvas, held down by my heavy secrets, I can tell the blonde wants to stay. That's… okay. Her shimmering image of perfection is clouding my habitually solitary existence, but it banishes my long-time loneliness. I now realize I'm panting. I never knew letting go and revealing my long-kept secrets would be so trying. But it feels good, to let go of the dirty ribbon, with snapshots of secrets plastered down tight. I bite my lip again. I do wonder what she thinks of me…

Pressing my lips tight together, they feel like they're about to burst. My head is sweaty, and my top is slipping off a shoulder. I could get busted for inappropriate dress code. Oh well. My eyes zoom in on the girl's face. It seems so pale and drawn. Hesitantly, I lift a trembling hand and let it rest gently on her bony shoulder. I give it a confident squeeze, and I smile down kindly at her. Her eyes brim, and she hurls herself into my arms. I hug back, and then the harsh bell clangs, bursting our fragile bubble of friendship. I slowly disentangle myself and leave. It's over, I know, forever.

She doesn't say anything for a while. Her face is lightly flushed, and her top is getting messy. But she suddenly plunks her pulsing hand on my shoulder. My first instinct is to jerk it away, but after a few seconds of rigid immobility, I like the heavy heat of her hand. She smiles gently, and squeezes my shoulder. I find the touch soothing. I begin to relax, just enjoying the intricate silence. After a heartbeat or two, I fling myself in her welcoming arms. I rest there, for a moment, before the bell shrilly rings. At the blaring sound, she jumps up and dashes away. Her warm presence is gone, forever.