Personal Narrative: My Prep School

“No please don’t make me go back!” I am yelling to my mom, as my salty tears penetrate my make-up and cause it to run down my face. “I hate it, that school is the worst!” “Honey, it is already half way through the school year, you can’t switch school this late in the year.” As my mom says the words I can hear the nonexistence care in her voice. Why does she want me to stay in this school? Doesn’t she realize that just four short months ago I was a “plain Jane” thirteen year old and now I’ve turned into a make-up palate with bones. The pressure of this “prep” school has turned me into this! I feel like just a skeleton of my former self, and I don’t quite know how it happened. “You just don’t get it, it’s horrible at that school, why, do you make me go if I’m so unhappy?” My mother waits for to respond to me, knowing that she can’t actually use cost as the reason. It’s a private school for all those rich kids, but for me I’m on a scholarship. She also can’t use distance as an excuse, because the public school is less than two blocks from our apartment. As it is, with the prep school, I have to take the metro every day, which does cost us money. I understand that my mom cares about me having the best education and I
I only put them up so that when my “school friends” came over, they would think that I was cool and except me. Who was I kidding, what friends, they didn’t even really know me at all, not the real me anyway. I packed enough clothing for a least a week or so, figuring I’d make it work somehow. I packed all my essentials, including some entertainment stuff. But none of that stupid make-up of my former self. I threw it all that in the trash before I headed out. I was leaving that behind me. Also of my former life, my phone, with all the fake contacts of people I didn’t care about anymore. Now I was free of that life and able to start