Everybody has to be a little bit of an actor sometimes. I just have to be a little bit of an actor more often than others. It's not that I mean to, but one thing led to another, and now I hardly know what part of me is real anymore.

It all started on my 9th birthday, and shortly thereafter. A few months before April of 1998, my mother had been diagnosed with cancer. At that time, I didn't have the slightest clue what "atypical" or "ovarian" cancer meant, but I do now. Until that time, I had only a vague idea of what "cancer" was. Now, I feel that I know too much about it. I now know three things about those words: that they are the three worst words in the English (or any other) language, that I need to worry about them despite the fact that I haven't even graduated from high school yet, and that they changed my life forever.

On April 11th, 1998, the demon of atypical ovarian cancer took my mother's life. The spotlight was taken off of me on the one day I was supposed to be the focus of attention. I felt forgotten, because everybody else was crying, rushing around, tying up loose ends: or trying to. More often than not, I was told to sit in the corner and not get in the way, so that's what I did. My mother died at 5:04 in the morning: the same time I was born, nine years before on that date. Not once that day was I ever wished a Happy Birthday. I suppose now I can see why: there was nothing happy about that day.

That was the start of me having to be an actor. I had to act sad and full of grief, not the disappointed and angry that I was. I was but a child, I didn't know anything about my feelings. I was supposed to act how I was told to act. I was told to stay out of the way, so I retreated to the comfort of my room and read books. I read so many books that week.

It took my family three days to remember that my birthday had been the same day. My dad promised me a special dinner, just the two of us, as soon as everything settled down a bit. I smiled and said, "Ok Daddy!" like he expected me to. For a few weeks, I was looking forward to it. To this day, I still haven't even had that birthday dinner.

There were several things I got from my mother's death: I got closer to my sister, and I gained two best friends. My sister and I are 3 years apart, and up until our mother's death, we were never close. She was the only person who didn't completely ignore me that day, although she, like everybody else, failed to remember that it was my birthday. Now, she and I are closer than best friends, because we are each other's only reminders of our mother. She has my mother's build, and I have her face. The two of us combined are our mother physically, but mentally, we're both different. She's the quiet one, who only speaks when spoken to, but pours out everything once you know her. She has very few secrets, and Everybody who calls her a friend knows about our mother. I, on the other hand, am the loud one. I'm always talking, but I don't reveal everything to anybody. Not even some of my closest friend know about Mom, and fewer people still know about my only true friend.

I'm the "popular" one. The only reason I am that way is because I act how I'm expected to, to be popular. The only thing that surprises people about my popularity is I didn't achieve it by being a cheerleader. I refuse to join that clan, and at my school, they're not even the "queens of the school". They're just their own little group. I haven't the slightest clue why, but they fall below the real queens: the tennis stars. I'm the star of the tennis team at Oak Grove High School, and for that reason, I'm popular. At school, I act like a tennis star.

From my mother's death, I gained two friends. Carly, my best friend. Shortly before that fateful day, she moved to Oak Grove. She was the new girl in my class, and she was wicked good at tennis for her age. She and I sat next to each other, and she was the only one who cared that I was gone for a week. She asked me why, and I told her. I told her because that was before I realized that people treat you a bit differently when you've lost a parent. She didn't, though, because she confided in me that she lost her mother when she was 3, when her brother was born. Now, she no longer plays tennis due to a major injury a few years back, but she's just as "cool" as I am. Without Carly, I wouldn't be who I am. Without her, I wouldn't have survived my mother's death as well as I did.

My other friend is the only one that reminds me of who I am. I got her from my mother's death as well. I had always had a fascination with horses, and my father always assumed it was just a phase. When I received Casara, my Andalusian/Paso Fino mare from him a few weeks after my mother passed, I was more than surprised. However, without Casara, I would completely forget who the real Mandy was. Without my horse, I would only know how to be an actor.