My extracurricular involves arguing. This is my ticket to college, the star on my classy resume, my pride and joy. I argue because I like it. I argue because I can't do this in reality. Reality is for losers.
This extracurricular is my mask. I talk to people not because I want to know them, but because I want them on my side. My smile is insincere, I laugh for followers, not for the heck of it. This is practice, practice for reality, a loser's world. People aren't always going to like you, they say, so you have to pretend. You're not yourself anymore. This is a world where you can't be yourself. You're everybody's best friend. Nerds? No. What is this word, I do not understand. Flirting? Underrated. Acting preppy? Arguably, I've incorporated that into my life. Something I hate. But I love it, I love it.
This extracurricular is image. Pants? I don't wear them. Skirts and dresses make boys like you more, and it's true. Won't you remember a girl in a sexy skirt more than a girl in boring black pants? Clicking high heels, parted hair in a Wall Street-worthy updo, a spritz or two of perfume. Glamor at its finest. I put my costume on and I am a different person. Goodbye, sweet. Hello, fierce.
I play this extracurricular like a game. It is a game. Perform well, instant elevation. You're not right for it? That's fine. I don't care. I don't care about anybody except for myself and my team, but I'm against them, too. This is an individual sport, a bloodbath. Of course there's cheating. Enemies are like your best friends for life, the epitome of oxymorons.
I remember that I am worthless to people with whom I play. I am worth nothing unless I fight for it. How can I ever prove myself if I don't try? Politics infiltrate even the team, there's not a trace of sincerity. Nobody cares about others. What a self-centered world I love.
I am not a monster.
But I love it. I love it so much.
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