Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > You're Never Gonna Fit In Much, Kid.
You’re Never Gonna Fit In Much, Kid
2 reviews"Sure, I was different than them, different from anybody in this hell hole, but it didn’t matter."
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Ch. 3
“You’re Never Gonna Fit In Much, Kid.”
As I opened my locker to get my books, I felt Rachel Carson come up next to me, in a whoosh of what was probably the latest Juicy perfume.
“Hey Allllllllexxxx!” she drawled. Just for the record, my name has never been, and never will be, “Allllllllexxxx”. My parents don’t have it out for me that much. You see, Rachel was just talking in the Popular Person dialect. You know, drawing out syllables of people’s names to seemingly infinite length.
My name was Alexandria, often called variants of “Alex” (such as “Allllllllexxxx”), much to my annoyance, by my so-called friends. There’s nothing wrong with the name Alex or anything, but personally I just would’ve liked to be called something a bit more….me. Like maybe Dri or Dria. But, of course, when I meekly suggested this to my “friends”, I was received with the standard derisive giggles and stares.
So I gave up. Surrendered to them, whatever they wanted. Just like I always did.
Sure, I was different than them, different from anybody in this hell hole, but it didn’t matter. I acted like I was just one of them. I had tried being different, being myself, before, and all that resulted in was the universe bitch-slapping me across the face. After repeated beat-downs, I figured maybe it was best to just conform. So that’s what I did.
I followed them around like a puppy, acting like I was one of them. Like I actually gave a shit about the latest rumor. Like I didn’t want to rip my own ears off every time they blared the latest Top 40’s Hit. Like I actually cared about who was screwing who, and what party was coming up this Friday (I never went to the parties though. That was more than I could take.), and whose douchebag boyfriend had bought them newest Mignon Faget ring.
It sucked to pretend all the time, but it was better to at least have fake friends than no friends at all, right? And I was convinced that if I was going to be myself - a Misfits-listening, eyeliner-loving, zombie-obsessed nerd-, then no friends was exactly what I would have.
So for this reason, I stood there and acted like I was listening to Rachel’s chatter about the apparent gorgeousness of Josh Burgess, and who had gotten drunk off of the cheap beer at Morgan Dimaggio’s party last week, and last night’s Facebook fight between Tiffany Fowler and Rebecca Lynch.
I stood there and listened and tried not to stare at the black-clad figure that strode down the other side of the hallway, Misfits patch grinning at me from his bag.
Alrighty, well, that's the last of the "introduction" chapters, so from now on, they'll probably be longer. Or at least have more...substance? I think that's the word I'm looking for. XD Read on, if you please!
Rage and Love,
PrettyOddOwl
“You’re Never Gonna Fit In Much, Kid.”
As I opened my locker to get my books, I felt Rachel Carson come up next to me, in a whoosh of what was probably the latest Juicy perfume.
“Hey Allllllllexxxx!” she drawled. Just for the record, my name has never been, and never will be, “Allllllllexxxx”. My parents don’t have it out for me that much. You see, Rachel was just talking in the Popular Person dialect. You know, drawing out syllables of people’s names to seemingly infinite length.
My name was Alexandria, often called variants of “Alex” (such as “Allllllllexxxx”), much to my annoyance, by my so-called friends. There’s nothing wrong with the name Alex or anything, but personally I just would’ve liked to be called something a bit more….me. Like maybe Dri or Dria. But, of course, when I meekly suggested this to my “friends”, I was received with the standard derisive giggles and stares.
So I gave up. Surrendered to them, whatever they wanted. Just like I always did.
Sure, I was different than them, different from anybody in this hell hole, but it didn’t matter. I acted like I was just one of them. I had tried being different, being myself, before, and all that resulted in was the universe bitch-slapping me across the face. After repeated beat-downs, I figured maybe it was best to just conform. So that’s what I did.
I followed them around like a puppy, acting like I was one of them. Like I actually gave a shit about the latest rumor. Like I didn’t want to rip my own ears off every time they blared the latest Top 40’s Hit. Like I actually cared about who was screwing who, and what party was coming up this Friday (I never went to the parties though. That was more than I could take.), and whose douchebag boyfriend had bought them newest Mignon Faget ring.
It sucked to pretend all the time, but it was better to at least have fake friends than no friends at all, right? And I was convinced that if I was going to be myself - a Misfits-listening, eyeliner-loving, zombie-obsessed nerd-, then no friends was exactly what I would have.
So for this reason, I stood there and acted like I was listening to Rachel’s chatter about the apparent gorgeousness of Josh Burgess, and who had gotten drunk off of the cheap beer at Morgan Dimaggio’s party last week, and last night’s Facebook fight between Tiffany Fowler and Rebecca Lynch.
I stood there and listened and tried not to stare at the black-clad figure that strode down the other side of the hallway, Misfits patch grinning at me from his bag.
Alrighty, well, that's the last of the "introduction" chapters, so from now on, they'll probably be longer. Or at least have more...substance? I think that's the word I'm looking for. XD Read on, if you please!
Rage and Love,
PrettyOddOwl
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