Confessions of a Girl in Denial


She's the funny, sarcastic city-girl who's moving to Texas. Will she find more than cowboys and ten-gallon hats? Or will she remain in denial when true love plows over her…literally? PRIVATE DIARY!


Chapter One: Of Horned Lizards and Heart-Stopping

Saturday, February 11, 2006 In my bedroom

Over.

O-V-E-R.

Not only is the above word a preposition and used to establish a relationship between the object and some other part of a sentence, it is also a word that does the best job of describing my life.

And I'm not one of those pathetic girls who sprawl all over the bed for a good sob after my crush ignores me or sits on me because I'm invisible to his godly eyes. I actually have a good reason for saying my life is over.

See, my parents got a divorce a month ago. Strange enough as it sounds; I was elated when they split up. Those two are the complete opposites of one another and whoever said opposites attract was right. But, through observing my parents, opposites do not get along.

Dad is a free bird, or so he insists. He's a photographer for National Geographic and his work takes him all over the world in places where men marry cows (actual cows, not bimbos) and where women have no problem in going shirtless and braless and the men are too happy to say otherwise.

A marriage, he argued, was "confining his spirit to one part of the world, although he longed to travel to exotic places". If you ask me, he just wants to see beautiful women shirtless, which is like every guy's dream job. Taking photos of them, I mean. Not being a shirtless woman.

On the other hand, Mum is a politician. A real one. Currently, she's running to be governor. And I know that in most cities, women being governor is almost unheard of, but Mum's actually winning.

I think it's because her competitors are scared of her.

She spends all her time traveling to different parts of Pennsylvania (where we live, duh) and making speeches about the necessity of immigrants and the valuable yet unrecognized resources of out state. And she goes to a bunch of parties.

Basically, both my parents travel ALL the time, so I just stay at home with Nanna, my grandmother. Nanna is the coolest grandmother ever. She water-skis, bungee-jumps, and has sex with guys half her age.

I so want to be just like her when I'm old.

Mum thinks she's a bad influence on me, though.

This brings us to the reason why my life is over.

Since Dad and Mum are splitting up, Mum can't just leave me with Dad, who's moving to South Africa. And since Nanna might possibly corrupt her poor, innocent girl, Mum's shipping me off to Aunt Helen in Texas, where she married a rancher named Antonio.

TEXAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've seen the movies, OK? I know all about the cowboys running around with guns and picking fights over whose cow is whose. And I know everyone there is oil-crazy and everyone lives on a ranch.

I, Camilla Trent, am not a country-gal. I like having cable and internet access wherever I go. I fully enjoy the hustle of city-life. And after sixteen years, I'm used to the constant light/sound/air pollution.

I mean, this is me! I practically have a heart attack if I see a spider in my bedroom. And Texas has scorpions and snakes. I can already feel the coronary arteries in my heart closing up.

And I hate how everyone in Texas speaks in a stupid drawl, and wears ten-gallon hats, and actually use boots for a purpose other than fashion. And how everyone there is a racist PIG and/or redneck.

MY LIFE IS SO OVER!

Mum says she'll send for me as soon as the campaign is over (one year) and that I will absolutely survive.

A lot she knows. Does she realize the many dangers of "The Lone Star State" AKA Texas???

Possible Causes for Death in Texas

5. Their national reptile, the horned lizard, might kill me with its blood. This desert animal has ducts near their eyes where the can expel their own blood at possible enemies, e.g. me. If they're mad enough, they can expel up to one-third of their blood.

4. The national sport, rodeo, might possibly injure me. Consider this: I'm riding a wild mustang which suddenly rears up, throws me off its back, and paralyzes/kills me.

3. I might get bitten by a poisonous scorpion or snake or spider.

2. I might trip and fall into a cactus.

1. A redneck rancher might shoot me for "trespassing" on his private property, even though I'm the most clueless person ever and probably won't see the sign in the first place.

I showed my mom the list, and all she said was, "Your research skills would probably be better used in school, honey. I hear Texan schools are quite difficult."

Um, yeah right. Everyone knows that all students do there is play football and drink beer.

Dad just told me to take photos of the interesting wildlife I'll see there. Yeah, Dad. Right before they inject me with poison, I'll say, "Can you hold that pose! On the count of three, look evil!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

Then I asked Dad if I could move to Africa with him. At least I'd be somewhat safer, right? But Mum just gave me an evil look. Believe me, she has it down. It must come from all that practice with her competitors and stuff.

Anyways, Mum's pretty cool. She's the one who suggested writing in a diary in the first place. Then again, she also told me the only reason she wasn't taking me to a psychiatrist was because they were "drugged up hippies" and she didn't have the time.

Basically, she thinks I bottle up my emotions too much, and then randomly combust into fits of anger and one day, I'll die from a heart seizure or something.

Thanks, Mum. Really.


Monday, February 13, 2006 In History Class

My friends aren't exactly as grief-stricken as I had hoped.

In fact, they seem somewhat happy.

Elena, my best friend, said, "Well, maybe you'll meet a cute cowboy and you can ride his horse." An innocent enough sentence, right? But after meeting Elena, you realize that pretty much all of what she says has a double meaning, with one being a tad…perverted?

She looks like a punk with her pink-streaked black hair and bright blue eyes (contacts). But don't underestimate her intelligence because it's the last thing you'll ever do. She packs a mean right hook and is known to debate with teachers on their subject.

Like this one time, she won an argument with our literature teacher about how Odysseus was just an ordinary man and not the hero he was supposed to be. I mean, what kind of hero cheats on his wife with two devils? And let's not forget he DITCHED his crew.

On the other hand, Adam flung himself against his locker and cried, "Oh, how will I survive without my loyal sidekick?" He actually had the nerve to smirk.

I'm proud to say that his smirk was swiftly wiped out once my foot connected with his shin. If the loud, pain-stricken swearing is any clue.

And from Adam, that's MAJOR news because he's the typical nerd except he's better looking than most of them. He spikes his blond hair with an obscene amount of hair gel and has intelligent, sharp brown eyes.

But he has an IQ of like, a hundred. At the age of ten, when most kids were running lemonade stands, he was hiring other kids to work in his lemonade factory. He's like a Bill Gates in the making, with a better wardrobe.

Actually, both of my best friends sport higher IQs than I could ever hope. I just barely pass math and science, but I always seem to do well in literature and drama. And PE.

But then again, almost everyone does well in PE. It's not like you have to think or anything.

Robyn Johnson, my nemesis, sneered, "Well, maybe we'll finally get some peace around here without your large, disfigured mouth always shouting."

At this, I promptly fled over to the bathroom and inspected my face.

Stick-straight brown hair (actually brushed today, what an improvement!) resides near my shoulders. Ever since I read a Nancy Drew novel in fifth grade, I've sported only shoulder-length hair because I thought she was the coolest girl ever.

My eyes, inherited from dad, are dark blue, and have bountiful lashes which is a plus, because I don't have to spend my (non-existent) allowance on mascara, like some people.

Robyn.

And my skin's pale, but it's not ace-ridden like the guy-who-likes-the-chili. He's a freshman, and his skin is like the landscape in the movie Holes with that dude from Even Stevens.

And while I'm not morbidly obese (my mom's dietician saw to that), I'm also not as thin as I'd like to be. According to me, if I shed ten pounds, I'll be perfect. Everything will fall into place.

But I've heard losing weight causes a girl's curves to become…well, flat. And I'm already on the flat side, so I'll just keep it as it is.

Basically, I'm not ugly, but I'm not gorgeous either. I'm just they type that aunts love to pinch and coo over, but they won't respect me either.

Monday, February 13, 2006 In Homeroom (Science)

Professor Gupta just announced my departure.

Yippee!

Maybe, just maybe, Randy Johnson might grace me with his shy, dimpled smile.

Preferably, he'll also throw himself at my feet, profess his undying love, and beg me not to leave.

Who's Randy?

The basis of my being, really. He's the twin brother of Robyn, but you know what they say. You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family.

I'm sure no one in the right mind would want to be related to that utter cow.

Randy is the cutest, most lovable guy ever. He's really quiet and shy, and has curly brown hair and soulful dark eyes that always crinkle with his rare, dimpled smile.

He has, in the past three years, only smiled at me twice. One because we were partners for a project (bless Professor Jennings) and one because I insulted Robyn in front of the whole class, which proves that he hates her just as much as I do.

We are so meant to be.

OK.

Heart stopping.

Skin sweating.

Hands flying up to check hair (still combed…I'm on a roll!)

He smiled.

At me.

He looks a teeny bit sad, or maybe my imagination is trying to trick me with false illusions like that one time I thought there was a valentine on my desk, but it turned out to be a cheat sheet someone had left from the previous class.

Ah, bugger it. Being pessimistic will get me no where.

He smiled forlornly as if he's realizing that our love will never be, or have to wait at least an year. His eyes scan over my features as if trying to store it in his memory forever.

That's more like it. And I realize that you're supposed to write only the truth in your diary, but the truth is so overrated and done. Like in Nothing but the Truth where that guy lies and he becomes this super-big celebrity. Some example he's setting.

Ah, bugger it again. I sound like a cheap romance novel in my (made-up) passage.

Not that I read them, you must realize.

Maybe a few.

Like two.

Per week.

At the least.

Ah, I admit it! I'm a trashy-romance-addict. But I have to get some "experience" from somewhere. Because I'm not getting any from my true life, in which I am unkissed and unloved.


Author's Notes

Like it? Hate it? Let me know!

Tell me if you guys think she's too shallow, or too stupid or whatever.

And apologies for ANY insult my writing may have caused. I do NOT make the stereotypes mentioned in this story, and I don't advise or encourage anyone to.

Because stereotyping is BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!

Kisses,

Celina Black