I was intrigued with you when I saw you sitting in the back of the classroom with your pencil far from your hand and your mind seeming even farther. Your stare seemed blank and empty but I could feel a million thoughts going in and out of your mind.

I knew that stare, because that's how I used to be.

I approached you after some time and asked for your name. You just looked at me and answered me coldly. I told you your name was pretty and you seemed a little surprised. I didn't mean to come off as creepy but I meant it.

I began to hang out with you more because I wanted to learn about you. I wanted to know why you were so quiet, why you stared off into space so easily, why you tried to sit far away from people and mostly why you tried to stay so far away from me.

I wanted to be your friend and I wanted to have that typical best friend relationship that you always heard about growing up, the one with sleepovers and pillow fights and a lot of junk food. Instead I was given short conversations and cold replies. You never seemed to liked hugs, judging by the way you stood still and stiff, like a statue. You never let anyone touch you and I didn't know why; hugs made everything better, didn't they?

"How come you talk to her? She never says anything back."

"Because she's my friend...?"

"I'm just saying, you're wasting your time trying to get to know her. She never talks about herself. Or at all, in general."

I didn't care what people said about you because I wanted to be the first one you'd trust and the first person you'd care about. And, I guess I never noticed anything odd about you because I knew that we were the same. Nothing about you seemed weird to me, but to others, apparently you were. So I finally asked someone.

"You know that girl over there, right? The really quiet one. Blank face."

"Well, of her, yeah. Why?

"Do you know why she's so...quiet?"

"Family issues, I assume. She's basically been taking care of her younger sister since they were kids, since her parent's got divorced and her dad's always working."

"So that's why?"

"...No, not completely. She's a perfectionist. That's why she's hard to please."

I was confused. Perfectionists were good, weren't they?

"So? Why is that bad?"

"Because to her, everything has to be exact. Nothing can be wrong, and nothing can be off by even a centimeter. She'll keep trying at something over and over and if she can't do it, she'll just grow angrier and angrier until she's done. And even when she's done, the thought of not being able to accomplish it the first time will sit in her mind and she'll continue to be angry. It's weird though, the way she looks at you makes you seem like you're made of gold. I've never seen her smile before."

I sat in class dumbfounded and for the next few days I let you have your space to think. I needed to think too.

You think I'm perfect.