The bus bumps up and down on the long country road. My nose is buried into my latest book about the Holocaust. The seventh grade girls in front of me are talking gossip. The eigth grade girls behind me are squealing as they toss a yearbook back and forth. And I can make out a few swear words from the back of the bus from the high schoolers. The seventh grade girls in front of me turn around and stare at me and then go back to gossiping. But behind my book I smile. Because I have my own little secret. My own little secret world. Whyville.
As I walk down the hallways a few guys smile and wave and my closest friends stop to chat but everyone else ignores me. But no one knows I write to over three million people across the Internet. I call myself anonymously famous.
I consider myself pretty. I'm not popular. But I know someone who likes me so wouldn't you think I was pretty if someone liked me?
I'm not going to go on babbling about how pretty and wonderful and amazing I think I am. You may think I'm the worst, most selfish person on the planet. I'm just trying to tell you I'm no "Sleeping Beauty" but I'm certainly no "Ugly Betty".
When people (and by people I mean the little witches that are in my math and gym class) point out how my hair isn't exactly perfect or I didn't rub my foundation in enough so that I look like I have yellow fever (no comments Zupatru . . .) I just laugh it off and smile. Because I have a secret. I have a place where no one knows if I'm pretty or ugly. It's called Whyville.
Whyville was considered "cool" in fourth grade. Whyville was like MySpace or Xanga.com . . . TOTALLY in. Everyone joined. I didn't want to. I was stubborn and wanted to do the exact opposite of the crowd. But I joined. Three months later no one except for me and my two friends Amy and Beca were still on Whyville. But here I am almost three years later and I still have my little secret of Whyville.
I wouldn't necessarily say I have close friends or here. I don't even generally have any friends. But I'm accepted. And that's all it takes for me.
Thank you Whyville. Thank you Times Writers. Thank you.
Thank you for being there when no one is there.
I'm sitting here chewing on carrots and slurping cherry coke wondering how this is supposed to make it into the Times. But I know that even if this isn't accepted someone will have read my thank you.
And again.
That's all it takes.
This is msof57 going to watch "Little House on the Prairie." *beep*
Wait . . . isn't it supposed to *click?*
