Maybe I don’t fear boys. Maybe, just maybe, I’m born with the inability to speak or interact with them like how normal girls do. Oh my gosh, maybe I embody a disgusting smell unbeknownst to me and Carol wouldn’t tell me! I’m going to kill her if I find out that that’s the problem, which I hope is not, because it’s embarrassing.
I had a relationship before, surprisingly. Sometimes it stings in my eyes when I think of it, but sometimes I feel like rummaging my kitchen cupboard for a knife to chop that guy off to pieces – if you’re reading this, Lucas, I apologize for your lack of luck. Letting go was difficult – it was like running on a beach when the wind is blowing and there are signs of rain oncoming. Once, I was at a beach and I had a great time walking around until the wind caught up suddenly, and I had to duck for cover as it started to drizzle. I ran, and the sand hitting against my shin was unbearable as I picked up the pace. If you have no idea what I’m saying, you should try running on a beach with a pair of slippers, and run hard.
That was letting go. It was crazy, because I knew letting go of him, letting go of our relationship, would benefit us two parties. He didn’t really like me anyway, and when I think of it, I think the thrill of a first Boy Girl Relationship was the thing that got me holding on. It took a long time to sink in my mind that I’d rather have a stable boyfriend who really loves me, and not experiment me. Have you ever wondered about what dating meant? I don’t know, half the people I know who dated somebody almost never have another day out with them.
I’ve watched MTV and I know how people are supposed to be casual in every conversation, in every commitment, treat it like it was nothing, to avoid heartache, disappointment, and I know it’s because the fear of having it end is like a cut in the flesh. That’s my vow in this camp. Well, except the point that I’m here to help the green and nature and all. Today, I’m going to go out this door (that I’m looking at because Carol is changing in the toilet and we have to get going already!) and get to know someone without hesitating.
I feel the same feeling I get every time someone on stage hollers, “Open Mike! Who wants to sing, you’re welcomed!”. The feeling that fuzzes and bubbles, like you can do anything. I smiled, rise up, prays a little, and finally knocks at the toilet door. “Seriously, I know you like the toilet very much, but we’re late.”
The knob turns a little, and I grab my bag from the table. Carol comes out looking like she was going out for a dinner, or for a Grammy award. Either way, she looked stunning. Available. And also, inappropriate. I kept my mouth shut, because she’ll have to learn that if you’re going to help the world, you’re going to sacrifice some things and in this case: expensive gladiator heels and a D&G navy blue dress.
She walks out of the door, me tailing behind. Then we start toward the lift, and we were met by a couple of guys with wild blonde hair waiting for the lift too. As usual, Carol gets the look in her eyes where it sparkles like sparkling juice. Here we go again, I’ll just watch as Carol gets slowly dissolved into the conversation and gets two new boy best friends. A thing about Carol is, she doesn’t commit. And sometimes, it’s an advantage, because she doesn’t treat everything like it was dead serious. I am the opposite, I’m hardcore. If you put me in the same scenario, and if the guy talks to me, I’d be walking down the stairs thinking what he meant with every word he said. Then I’ll analyze his features in my mind, and starts going he isn’t that bad-looking. It’s crazy.
That doesn’t change the fact that guys are unintuitive. Carol smiled at both of them, and they looked at each other like they’d just scored big. I folded my arms across my chest and watched it unfold before my eyes. Why can’t the guys just suck it up and utter a “hey” or “hi” or “hello” if he was a gentleman?
Carol stood still in her dress, and at that moment, I felt like laughing. Here we all are, decked in shorts and Tees, and she’s strapped into a dress. A dress. Maybe she just doesn’t know that we’re going to eventually fall into puddles of mud when we’re swinging by braches of trees like Tarzan. “Carol, you watch too much TV.” I whispered to her.
She looks at me and smile, and then shrugged. “I know what I’m doing.”
Hmm, maybe she knows that I was referring to the dress.
***
We’re all gathered in the lobby, everyone busy talking or squealing or catching up with what’s happened after the last camp last year.
Carol’s seated cross-legged on the floor with me, watching everyone curiously. I spotted a girl looking wide-eyed at a guy like a hawk. It’s so obvious she likes him. This is what I like to do: watch and unlearn.
She finally muttered up enough courage and walks up to him where he’s pouring himself a drink at the counter. I hug myself and bring my knees nearer to my body, and watch them like I was in the movies. The girl was probably a year older than me, with freckles at the right spots, a curvy figure, and beautiful legs. I smiled thinking how lucky a guy would be to have her. As she walks towards him, her legs tangled together – maybe she was nervous, these things happen – and fell to the floor. The guy, hearing her little yelp, looked behind. Maybe if he saw her long enough, he’d figure how pretty she is and help her up.
But noooo, there he is, dropping the cup and starts guffawing. He’s in my burn book, I tell you. The girl blushes scarlet red, got help from a nearby friend, and trots away, tears in her eyes. The guy, on the other hand, pulls a friend nearby to him, and points at where she fell, and they start laughing.
Do you see what I mean? But anyway, I learn to not walk up to a guy with a drink.
I would’ve walked there and give them a tight slap, but Arthur appeared and starts tapping on the mike. “Alright people, settle down.” I let them off, and focused on what he said. Generally, it’s about how important the nature is and repetitive sentences like, “We should love Mother Earth.”
I’ve heard this numerous times, including last year. Almost dozing off, I stood up and walk to the restroom, where I heard muffled cries. At first I thought it was just some soundtrack being played too loud from somewhere, but it was a cry. I walked into the toilet, bracing myself for the ghost of some girl who got killed in one of the cubicle, and walked to the sink. The cry was louder, and I knocked on the cubicle. Somehow I have the idea that it was the girl before.
“If you’re the girl that got laughed at by the jerk, calm down.” I said with a steady voice. Then I wash my hands and splatter some water on my face to waken me up. The cry stopped, and slowly, the girl got out, her mascara running down her face, and her lips a little swollen.
I felt pitiful, and sighed. “Why’re you crying?”
“Who’re you?”
I thought for a second as she sniffed her last series of snots, then I shrugged, “A girl who goes through the same things.”
For a moment, we were silent – except for her sniffs. She then smiles, “I’m Abel.”
“Gwen. Gwen Sliver.”
“I thought he was nice. I don’t know, I- I just wanted to know his name. I can’t believe I fell. Maybe if I didn’t, he would still be the perfect guy I have in mind.” She stares blankly at the mirror above the sink. I roll my eyes, “Everything happens for a reason, Abel. He’s a jerk.”
She nods a little. Understatement of the year: Guys suck.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Monday, December 14, 2009
Chapter 3;
"Come on, come on!" Arthur, our head for this year's camp, shouted enthusiastically. "Everybody off the bus, and on for fun!"
Carol stepped into the line that was naturally forming in the aisle of the bus, and I joined her. Behind, a boy my age sneezes onto my back. Oh my gosh, gross!
He sniffles and predictably, not apologize. I shut my eyes for an approximately 3 seconds to remember to breathe, because if I act onto him, I'd be:
a) sued.
b) be called a 'freak' or 'sensitive' because it was petty as heck.
Someday, I'll be listing down all the reasons why I despise boys. The first one, they are super unhygienic. When it was my turn to walk down the stairs off the bus, Carol started talking, "Wow Gwen, look!"
I did, but all I saw was the cobalt road and a few more buses parking beside ours. Great, more people. Carol comes and hugs me tightly, "I have this feeling that camp's going to be great!" She pulls me aside to make way for other people descending from the bus. I smile weakly at her, and said a short prayer that I don't get run down by any bus soon because of my petite frame. Well, I call myself short.
In front stood Arthur, a 19-year-old statuesque boy who's not bad-looking himself. When he smiles, he has a pair of dimples to die for. For one second there, he looked at me, then turned away. "Okay, everybody, I'll be bringing you to the hotel first thing, and then we'll hit the beach for today. It's getting dark anyway. Tomorrow, gear up for some green lessons!"
And with that, he headed up left, where all of us followed.
"Man, I can't wait to hit the beach. Probably I'll get to spot some hot babes and bring em' down!", said some guy who was obviously trying very hard to grow a stubble on his chin. I rolled my eyes.
Why I despise boys, 2. they think they'd get any babe because they're guys and I don't understand their language.
Carol linked her arms through mine, and we started walking faster. And then I remembered, my two hands were very free. Where's my luggage? I turned to Carol and saw she was pulling a trolley luggage behind her, its wheels making a lot of noise as it hit the rocky road.
"Oh gosh, Carol!" I started, whispering so no one could hear me being so stupid. "I forgot my luggage."
Carol stopped humming a Madonna song and stared at me, "What?!"
I released my arm from hers and ran backwards back to the bus, and I could tell Carol was too because her footsteps were audible. The bus wasn't very far, so in a few seconds, I reached. The luggage compartment was closed, and in a second, the engine started roaring. The bus was moving. Nooo!
"Wait! Stop!" I shouted, my arms flailing helplessly above me, "My luggage is in your stupid bus!"
Why I despise boys: 3. they grow up to be bus drivers who does not double check if anyone forgot their luggage to avoid any mishap, like what I'm into now.
I have to give it to Carol, because she used her gift for good. She ran right in front of the bus, and spread her arms, shut her eyes, and waited. I just stood at the side, watching. She was like a heroine!
The bus immediately screeched to a halt in front of Carol, and I saw Carol's eye slowly opening, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Then she flipped her hair like how everyone imagined Megan Fox would do, and sashayed to the bus. I guess this was my cue, so I ran to the luggage compartment as Carol bangs on the bus door and order the driver to open the compartment.
After many failed tries of me opening it myself, the bus driver steps out gruffly. "So you forgot your bag, miss?" he choked.
"Uh, no, that's why I'm here. Because I like running randomly to a bus with my best friend having to sacrifice her life being run down by a bus like yours." I stated. He raised his left eyebrow like I was joking, and I spat, "Of course I forgot my luggage! Now just open it so I can lead a normal life."
He stumbles towards me, and I could tell he needs some exercise. Carol, who was standing behind him, snickers at my rude comment. The driver snaps open the compartment and then brought out the last teal-colored luggage bag out. I tugged at it and started walking away.
"Thanks, driver!" Carol said, and then ran back to me. I looked over my shoulder, and see the driver eying my best friend's butt. Then I raised my fist at him, and he walked up the stairs to the bus, closes the door and drove off. That'll teach him.
*
"UGH." I groaned as I let my luggage drop onto the ground. Carol and I were in a hotel room -- the walls were olive-colored, the window huge and beautiful, overlooking the sea, and the curtains draped across. My eyes turned to the two beds with a small table in between
with a table lamp perched on top.
Carol heads to the bathroom. One of her habit is to check the bathrooms first before she looks at anything else. I followed her as she switches the light on. The bathroom was big enough, thankfully. There was nothing I like seeing there, unless you find pleasure looking at the toilet basin or the toilet bowl, I'd pass.
"So, let's change into sandals and meet some boys!" Carol announces with a smile on her face. She switches off the light, threw her sports shoe to a side, and begin digging for her sandals which she packed. I frowned, and when she realizes the silence, she looks up at me.
"Oh, right, no boys. Sorry."
I felt bad immediately. Sitting down on the rather bouncy bed, I tore off my shoes too and grabbed my neon yellow sandals and put it on my feet. "Care, I've told you. It's not like they're my nemesis. I don't hate the entire male population -- for example, my dad."
She shrugs, "Then why're you always so worked up about it?" Then she walked over to where she left her sports shoe and placed it beneath her bed as I replied her, "You don't need an explanation for everything, Carol. The point is, they hate me. So --"
"They hate you?" Carol cut me off. "How can you tell? You've just stepped into here for the past..." she looks at her watch, "2 minutes."
"You know, in school. Around the neighborhood. None of the boys treat me like how they treat other gals, like you." I explained patiently. I didn't want to discuss about this, because I know eventually I'd have to explain again when Carol talks about boys and remember I don't have a thing for them.
"That's crap. But you won't buy into it. So, I'll just let it be. Let's go, but I just hope you not liking any guy don't automatically mean I have to be the same." She gives me a warning look.
Knowing how much she likes them, I smiled reassuringly. "When have I ever told you to stay away from them?"
"Never. Maybe except the time on my birthday, Easter's, Christmas, school's first day --"
"Okay, I got it. But not this time." I gave her my pinky swear. She grins from ear to ear. "Great, let's go!"
Yeah, let's.
Carol stepped into the line that was naturally forming in the aisle of the bus, and I joined her. Behind, a boy my age sneezes onto my back. Oh my gosh, gross!
He sniffles and predictably, not apologize. I shut my eyes for an approximately 3 seconds to remember to breathe, because if I act onto him, I'd be:
a) sued.
b) be called a 'freak' or 'sensitive' because it was petty as heck.
Someday, I'll be listing down all the reasons why I despise boys. The first one, they are super unhygienic. When it was my turn to walk down the stairs off the bus, Carol started talking, "Wow Gwen, look!"
I did, but all I saw was the cobalt road and a few more buses parking beside ours. Great, more people. Carol comes and hugs me tightly, "I have this feeling that camp's going to be great!" She pulls me aside to make way for other people descending from the bus. I smile weakly at her, and said a short prayer that I don't get run down by any bus soon because of my petite frame. Well, I call myself short.
In front stood Arthur, a 19-year-old statuesque boy who's not bad-looking himself. When he smiles, he has a pair of dimples to die for. For one second there, he looked at me, then turned away. "Okay, everybody, I'll be bringing you to the hotel first thing, and then we'll hit the beach for today. It's getting dark anyway. Tomorrow, gear up for some green lessons!"
And with that, he headed up left, where all of us followed.
"Man, I can't wait to hit the beach. Probably I'll get to spot some hot babes and bring em' down!", said some guy who was obviously trying very hard to grow a stubble on his chin. I rolled my eyes.
Why I despise boys, 2. they think they'd get any babe because they're guys and I don't understand their language.
Carol linked her arms through mine, and we started walking faster. And then I remembered, my two hands were very free. Where's my luggage? I turned to Carol and saw she was pulling a trolley luggage behind her, its wheels making a lot of noise as it hit the rocky road.
"Oh gosh, Carol!" I started, whispering so no one could hear me being so stupid. "I forgot my luggage."
Carol stopped humming a Madonna song and stared at me, "What?!"
I released my arm from hers and ran backwards back to the bus, and I could tell Carol was too because her footsteps were audible. The bus wasn't very far, so in a few seconds, I reached. The luggage compartment was closed, and in a second, the engine started roaring. The bus was moving. Nooo!
"Wait! Stop!" I shouted, my arms flailing helplessly above me, "My luggage is in your stupid bus!"
Why I despise boys: 3. they grow up to be bus drivers who does not double check if anyone forgot their luggage to avoid any mishap, like what I'm into now.
I have to give it to Carol, because she used her gift for good. She ran right in front of the bus, and spread her arms, shut her eyes, and waited. I just stood at the side, watching. She was like a heroine!
The bus immediately screeched to a halt in front of Carol, and I saw Carol's eye slowly opening, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Then she flipped her hair like how everyone imagined Megan Fox would do, and sashayed to the bus. I guess this was my cue, so I ran to the luggage compartment as Carol bangs on the bus door and order the driver to open the compartment.
After many failed tries of me opening it myself, the bus driver steps out gruffly. "So you forgot your bag, miss?" he choked.
"Uh, no, that's why I'm here. Because I like running randomly to a bus with my best friend having to sacrifice her life being run down by a bus like yours." I stated. He raised his left eyebrow like I was joking, and I spat, "Of course I forgot my luggage! Now just open it so I can lead a normal life."
He stumbles towards me, and I could tell he needs some exercise. Carol, who was standing behind him, snickers at my rude comment. The driver snaps open the compartment and then brought out the last teal-colored luggage bag out. I tugged at it and started walking away.
"Thanks, driver!" Carol said, and then ran back to me. I looked over my shoulder, and see the driver eying my best friend's butt. Then I raised my fist at him, and he walked up the stairs to the bus, closes the door and drove off. That'll teach him.
*
"UGH." I groaned as I let my luggage drop onto the ground. Carol and I were in a hotel room -- the walls were olive-colored, the window huge and beautiful, overlooking the sea, and the curtains draped across. My eyes turned to the two beds with a small table in between
with a table lamp perched on top.
Carol heads to the bathroom. One of her habit is to check the bathrooms first before she looks at anything else. I followed her as she switches the light on. The bathroom was big enough, thankfully. There was nothing I like seeing there, unless you find pleasure looking at the toilet basin or the toilet bowl, I'd pass.
"So, let's change into sandals and meet some boys!" Carol announces with a smile on her face. She switches off the light, threw her sports shoe to a side, and begin digging for her sandals which she packed. I frowned, and when she realizes the silence, she looks up at me.
"Oh, right, no boys. Sorry."
I felt bad immediately. Sitting down on the rather bouncy bed, I tore off my shoes too and grabbed my neon yellow sandals and put it on my feet. "Care, I've told you. It's not like they're my nemesis. I don't hate the entire male population -- for example, my dad."
She shrugs, "Then why're you always so worked up about it?" Then she walked over to where she left her sports shoe and placed it beneath her bed as I replied her, "You don't need an explanation for everything, Carol. The point is, they hate me. So --"
"They hate you?" Carol cut me off. "How can you tell? You've just stepped into here for the past..." she looks at her watch, "2 minutes."
"You know, in school. Around the neighborhood. None of the boys treat me like how they treat other gals, like you." I explained patiently. I didn't want to discuss about this, because I know eventually I'd have to explain again when Carol talks about boys and remember I don't have a thing for them.
"That's crap. But you won't buy into it. So, I'll just let it be. Let's go, but I just hope you not liking any guy don't automatically mean I have to be the same." She gives me a warning look.
Knowing how much she likes them, I smiled reassuringly. "When have I ever told you to stay away from them?"
"Never. Maybe except the time on my birthday, Easter's, Christmas, school's first day --"
"Okay, I got it. But not this time." I gave her my pinky swear. She grins from ear to ear. "Great, let's go!"
Yeah, let's.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Chapter Two;
Have you read a Kate Brian/Meg Cabot book where the ending involves a girl and a guy, and they're head over heels for each other? Almost all the guys in there are as sweet as honey, and it makes girls believe that if we, by chance, acted more like the girl in the books, we'd realize boys are creatures that can actually be nice.
But then you close the book and stuff it in a shelf, smiles to yourself, and opens the door for a jog. The sun rays are raining down on you, and it felt like a rainbow was going to appear anytime soon. An incredibly gorgeous self-imagined guy with a cute haircut, drool-worthy body, and a flashing smile, lingers in your thoughts, and you'll go, "Wow, I'm going to see boys like that from now on, because a revelation is coming around: Boys are nice beings!"
So you're jogging a little faster because you're fueled by that thought, and then you turned the corner, and Boom! The next thing you know, your butt is on the ground and you see stars above your head.
So you lift your head to see what the cause of your fall is, and you see a decent-looking guy, who'd pass as 'gorgeous' anytime, and you just instantly melt. That's when you start thinking all chic-lit books are good for the soul, and there's a cosmic force somewhere up there to arrange you and a beautiful guy to bump into each other and live happily after after you read books like that.
Pause.
You realize he's cooing, "Ohhhh, are you okay? Oh my gosh, I'm terribly sorry!" You offer your hand in case he's going to help you up, and gasp!, he's nearing you. You feel that body of yours pulsing, and beads of sweat are forming. Why isn't he helping me up yet?
Just then you see his eyes are over your shoulder and not looking at you, and you turn around to see what's catching his eyes, and there it is, laying lifeless on the cobalt road, a stupid toy -- a black GameBoy, its screen blank.
The guy walks past where you're still pathetically laying, and grabs his treasure gently, like a mother cradling her newborn, and you feel like gagging.
He touches it to check of any 'injuries', and when he's finished and his baby is considered okay, he realizes your existence.
You light up for a moment there, before he gives you a scowl, and with an unimaginable voice, booms out, "Watch where you're going." and continues playing with the GameBoy.
Sounds familiar? Well, of course, they're boys. Because if you're Gisele Bunchen or a drop-dead gorgeous actress like Denise Richards, the scene would be dramatically changed. The boy would look at his toy laying nearby the beautiful girl, and feel sympathetic for a moment before his eyes crawls over to the babe that's wiping herself, and his mind would click and shout at him, 'Babe Alert!', which is his cue to scurry to the girl, offer his hand, and bring her up. Then he'd probably think, I'll take you later, GameBoy, and bring her back to his house to check if she's suffered Alzheimer or something grave like that.
Well, I'll tell you what. I wasn't Gisele Bunchen or Denise Richards - not even close. The guy didn't even glance at me for one bit, except maybe for the stupid punch line Watch where you're going. Yeah, I had a zit.
So I guess that's when I thought, I'm doomed. Boys are boys, and whatever or whoever they like, it wasn't something I was, or am. That's when I started thinking too much when I meet a guy friend, like Was he looking at my zit? or Did he just say hi because my best friend is a clone of Megan Fox and is thinking how dumb she is to tag me along because clearly, she could outbeat me in anything, and I should be left alone, isolated, to ponder about why I'm not one of 'them'.
"Gwen!"
Immediately I was awoken from my daydreaming, and for a second, my brain adjusted to who was calling out my name. Carol, who was starting to stand up, looks intently at me.
"What?" I asked, standing up too when I saw everyone else in the bus was doing the same. I tightened the sweater around my waist as I wait for Carol, my best friend who looks like Megan Fox with a bod to die for and plump lips, to answer.
She shrugs, "Well, for starters, we're here."
But then you close the book and stuff it in a shelf, smiles to yourself, and opens the door for a jog. The sun rays are raining down on you, and it felt like a rainbow was going to appear anytime soon. An incredibly gorgeous self-imagined guy with a cute haircut, drool-worthy body, and a flashing smile, lingers in your thoughts, and you'll go, "Wow, I'm going to see boys like that from now on, because a revelation is coming around: Boys are nice beings!"
So you're jogging a little faster because you're fueled by that thought, and then you turned the corner, and Boom! The next thing you know, your butt is on the ground and you see stars above your head.
So you lift your head to see what the cause of your fall is, and you see a decent-looking guy, who'd pass as 'gorgeous' anytime, and you just instantly melt. That's when you start thinking all chic-lit books are good for the soul, and there's a cosmic force somewhere up there to arrange you and a beautiful guy to bump into each other and live happily after after you read books like that.
Pause.
You realize he's cooing, "Ohhhh, are you okay? Oh my gosh, I'm terribly sorry!" You offer your hand in case he's going to help you up, and gasp!, he's nearing you. You feel that body of yours pulsing, and beads of sweat are forming. Why isn't he helping me up yet?
Just then you see his eyes are over your shoulder and not looking at you, and you turn around to see what's catching his eyes, and there it is, laying lifeless on the cobalt road, a stupid toy -- a black GameBoy, its screen blank.
The guy walks past where you're still pathetically laying, and grabs his treasure gently, like a mother cradling her newborn, and you feel like gagging.
He touches it to check of any 'injuries', and when he's finished and his baby is considered okay, he realizes your existence.
You light up for a moment there, before he gives you a scowl, and with an unimaginable voice, booms out, "Watch where you're going." and continues playing with the GameBoy.
Sounds familiar? Well, of course, they're boys. Because if you're Gisele Bunchen or a drop-dead gorgeous actress like Denise Richards, the scene would be dramatically changed. The boy would look at his toy laying nearby the beautiful girl, and feel sympathetic for a moment before his eyes crawls over to the babe that's wiping herself, and his mind would click and shout at him, 'Babe Alert!', which is his cue to scurry to the girl, offer his hand, and bring her up. Then he'd probably think, I'll take you later, GameBoy, and bring her back to his house to check if she's suffered Alzheimer or something grave like that.
Well, I'll tell you what. I wasn't Gisele Bunchen or Denise Richards - not even close. The guy didn't even glance at me for one bit, except maybe for the stupid punch line Watch where you're going. Yeah, I had a zit.
So I guess that's when I thought, I'm doomed. Boys are boys, and whatever or whoever they like, it wasn't something I was, or am. That's when I started thinking too much when I meet a guy friend, like Was he looking at my zit? or Did he just say hi because my best friend is a clone of Megan Fox and is thinking how dumb she is to tag me along because clearly, she could outbeat me in anything, and I should be left alone, isolated, to ponder about why I'm not one of 'them'.
"Gwen!"
Immediately I was awoken from my daydreaming, and for a second, my brain adjusted to who was calling out my name. Carol, who was starting to stand up, looks intently at me.
"What?" I asked, standing up too when I saw everyone else in the bus was doing the same. I tightened the sweater around my waist as I wait for Carol, my best friend who looks like Megan Fox with a bod to die for and plump lips, to answer.
She shrugs, "Well, for starters, we're here."
Chapter One;
Profile
Name: Gwen Sliver
Age: 13
Gender: It says Gwen. Wait, can Gwen be for a boy? OMG.
School: Who cares?
Email: gwensliver_crescent@aim.com
Hobbies/ Interests: Hmm, going for camps. Cooking, exercising, drawing, reading, writing, singing, dancing, and boys.
Likes: Isn't that like, hobbies? Um, boys?
Dislikes: Boys.
Fear: Boys.
What?: It does exist! Ugh.
More about yourself: Well, I...am a girl. And I am not a drop-out, and I love Michael Jackson? Oh, and the book I liked the most was Joan Bauer's Hope Was Here.
Favorite Quote: I suffer from boy phobia. -- Me.
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