ex-cheerleader Mia has only one love: hard rock. She turned from all of it, the boys, the drugs, the friends, so she could be embraced into music...it's the closet thing to a family she has. Enter ...
When I saw the pink, sparkly surface of my first guitar, I knew this could be a problem. A big one. I was one of those girls who were expected to be prissy and expensive, clean-cut. I was supposed to listen to rap and hip-hop, supposed to style my hair stick-straight and wear make-up to hide breakouts and zits, supposed to smile sweetly and flirt with any living male within flirting distance. But I didn't. I chose something different. I chose music over the almost inevitably possible course of popularity, and I say almost because I turned it away for my guitar.
I knew I was pretty, ever since I was a little girl. I knew my beauty set me apart from the others. So I smiled, flashing cute dimples and perfectly placed teeth. I swung my blond, ringlet curls around, showing off. I knew I was beautiful, therefore, I should be noticed.
But being pretty isn't the only thing that you must have to be popular. Girls that are unpopular think because they're all beautiful, they're all popular...but that's only half of it. You had to have attitude. You had to be able to sneer easily at the plain girls, the ugly girls. You had to be able to call a beautiful and wonderful girl that was too sweet for the inner ring of hell something that isn't true, like "she's just smiling at us 'cause she's wanting in".
Becoming popular was too tempting for me at the beginning of high school. I followed the rules, I wore the latest clothes, I laughed at cruel jokes, I went out with a new boyfriend every week, basically.
But I had a secret... I had a passionate, wicked love for metal and rock music. In secret I bought punky clothes and wore them, and stood in front of the mirror, with Marilyn Manson in the background. I liked the skulls, the black roses, the darkness of it all... But humans are drawn to the dark, so I was no different I guess. We're all tempted to taste darkness every once in a while.
I was too deep then. There was no way I could ever had abandoned my post, my authority over the school. I was still in love with the power I felt over everyone else, my beauty making the boys stumble over their own feet when they saw me, the girls glaring at me as I went down the halls, blond hair sashaying behind me like a sheet of golden light.
And I know what you're thinking. She'll forget about it all and fall in love, be popular and turn out all right in the end. But you don't know, do you? Not yet, at least.
I began to realize this wasn't what I wanted. I wasn't truly, deeply happy, with these perfect, skin-hugging clothes on. I wanted to taste the darkness again, I wanted to feel the coldness, the cold embrace of Rammstein and System of a Down and Marilyn Manson again. I wanted to feel the chucks on my feet and watch scary movies again. I wanted to breath in the stenches of guitars and chords and heavy bass lines again.
So I left it all. I left all the friends, and hip-hop, the boys, the drugs, all of it behind. And I turned into the embrace of hard rock.