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Slowly, she ties her shoes. Loop, loop, tie; the same fashion she has since kindergarten. Her lips, faintly pink, hold an expression of anonymity. Her eyes are captured with the same vagueness. A small bead of sweat trickles down her forehead as she ties those shoes. The laces are dirty and are worn at the edges. The reflect her in an odd way; frayed and slowly coming apart.

Her footsteps echo as she walks out of the locker room, blinded by the light of a day shes already trying to forget. Crisp air stings her cheeks as she walks to her bus. Though she can hear it depart, she walks; its just something else that she's too late for.

The others pass by her without a second thought, all too wrapped up in their friends, significant others and the day to notice.

She stretches out a hand as she walks past the pillars, letting the cold rock remind her that its all real. Her fingers bleed and ache from her always anxiously biting them; her feet are sore after carrying her heavy heart all day.

She's not in all black. She doesn't have any piercings, save for her earrings; a standard for her age. As far as anyone can see, she is generic. She's never cut herself; she's never drank, never smoked.

<center>She is average, every bizarre part of her.

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