You know what? No forewords, no introductions, no footnotes for random reasons. Figure it out yourself. May be hard, but at least you're not in our shoes. I will start from the beginning, and leave you to deal with cliffhangers, plot twists, and everything a good story needs. But as you read, remember that this is not a fictional tale. It is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I sat alone in the bathroom. Don't get all weird on me, this is where our story starts. I come here to unwind, when my fellow classmates make stupid comments or act like they own the place. I hated the school architect for how he designed the girls' bathroom. An array of pink and white tiles adorned the floor. I hated pink. It was the stereotypical female colour, and I also hate stereotypes. Listening to me, right now, it must sound like I hate everything, but I don't. I just... have my own opinions. The roof was pink, the walls, even the cubicle barriers. And don't even get me started on the mirror. Sure, it wasn't pink, but it was as posh as you can get. It was a large elliptical shape, with fake gold decorating the outside. Every time I'd come in here, girls would interrupt my quiet pondering and start putting on make-up. Why would you even want to? In my opinion, make-up just makes you look like a clown. I am not afraid of clowns, I just think they're embarrassing themselves. I tried to remember what had made me come in here today, but it had completely vanished from my train of thought. I breathed a sigh of relief. Good. That's the way I like it. The door opened automatically, which was also a stupid idea. What if a boy walked past and just saw the girls' bathroom, or vice versa. The female bathroom was to the right of the boys, and I liked to say that was because women were always right. As usual, the classroom was chaotic. Pencils and insults flew across the air, and our teacher, Professor McKenzie was unsuccessfully trying to keep order. I knew what to do. It was my duty. "Quiet!" I yelled, resulting in each face in the room to turned to me. Satisfied, I beamed at the teacher. "As you were, professor." I took my seat down next to Beverly. She glanced at me, and the corner of her mouth turned up. "You missed quite a show." She whispered to me. "Georgia trash-talked Neil so hard that he'll be littering himself for the next week." That would've been hysterical, but I tried to ignore Beverly. "And so, to test if any of you were listening to the lesson." Professor McKenzie said, grabbing a a marker from the table behind him. "I would like one of you demonstrate the quadratic equation." Professor McKenzie scanned the room, looking for volunteers even though I could tell he wasn't going to find any. I sighed at the idiocy of my classmates, and raised my hand. Professor McKenzie smiled, and pointed his marker at me. "Naomi." I grabbed the pen, and wrote down exactly what McKenzie wanted. He stared at the equation I'd written on the board, and patted me on the back. I found this degrading, as if I were a kindergartener who managed to colour inside the lines instead of the only person in the eighth grade who knew the entire periodic table. Ignoring McKenzie's poor attempt at encouragement, I returned to my seat, and McKenzie answered some stupid questions from the other children.
You're not here for my school day, are you? You're here for the story about my life became weird! As I was saying, after McKenzie taught us a bunch of stuff I already knew, like factorial equations and Pythagoras' theorem, I got up and left. End of the school day. On my path home, I entered my thoughts, trying to wonder about random things. Before I could get into some deep philosophy, Beverly approached me. "Hey." She smiled, and looked across the street. I know she was avoiding her twin brother, Eric, who was goofing around like an idiot with his friends. She turned back to me, and looked bitter. "Hi." I greeted her, but kept a fast pace. Beverly was my best friend, but even then, that wasn't saying much. Near to none of the other people at school were even friendly. I pulled out a book I borrowed from the local library and started to read. Beverly, clearly getting the message, started walking slower. The book, The Gods and Myths of Ancient Greece, was filled with stuff about Zeus blasting people to bits and heroes that think they're better than everyone else. The only god I actually found interesting was Athena, because we shared traits together perfectly. Wisdom? Check. Courage? Check. Strategy? Check again. I decided that she was my idol when it came to Greek myth. She had everything you could look up to. Just like looking at the image of her on the page, with a large plumed helmet, a spear and that terrifying shield of hers, she looked perfect. The only thing that bugged me was the story of Arachne. It proves that all gods have their flaws. After finishing a part about Apollo being a sore loser against a satyr named Marsyas, I had reached home. Like all afternoons, I did the usual. Dropped my school bag in the living room, placed my Greek mythology book on my shelf, and headed off for another library book. What? I'm obsessed with books! You can relate, right? I mean, you're reading a book right now. The library was filled with layers upon layers of interesting books, from the works of Emily Brontë to William Shakespeare. Whenever I came here, my bibliophilia (I'm sorry if you don't know that word. Look it up.) would kick in. I remembered the first time I came here. My mother wanted to get me a cheesy children's book, but I was more interested in Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, or the Holy Bible. Ever since, I developed a passion for all bookstores. My bookshelf at home now took up the majority of my room.