Marla pov

Facing my reflection, the word "disgust" imprinted my left thigh. The amber curls had lost it's shine, my skin looks pale and pasty with acne and pimple scattered across my face. I have baby fats or at least that's what my parents were trying to tell me, my chubby fingers proves me otherwise. I was never fond of makeup which I guess it's a good thing since I read makeup is terrible for acne prone skin.....but, then again, sometimes I wish I could just rip my face off. I couldn't stand it, I refuse to look in the bathroom mirrors at my school. I turned off the light, much better. I flopped on my bed and sighed. When has my life turned out like this? As a fifteen years old I envious the kids at my school, except Karlene. I feel different, I'm the outsider, the person that sits alone at the school's cafeteria surrounded by murmurs and whispers, it could be my illusion. I've always known that I was different, but I couldn't figure why I was different, What makes me different? Sure I'm on the chubbier side decorated with red spots, but does that have anything do with making friends? Nobody really bullies me or insult me, but I'm always afraid to walk down the school's hall, not because I was afraid someone might jump me. It's something else, I'm not so sure of it myself either which is why it frustrates me. Every day I become anxious at the end of my class, hurrying to my next class before it catches me. There were rumors about our school's history. It's not a good one, people saying it was a mental hospital back in the 40's. There was an article about a "mysterious fire" near this area and I'm guessing people believed it's a curse. Some kids are linking the cases together and honestly I think it's pathetic. Rumors are just rumors after all. It was more than seventy years ago and yet even some of my teachers believe it. I mean come on, it's the twenty-first century people. Mrs. Thompson is always saying how her great-grandmother was a patient at that hospital, "Roseville Bridge Mental Institution" was the name. She's my English teacher, quite young too. I hate her, I despise her, she's everyone's favourite teacher because of her bright personality and "kind" nature. I could puke my guts out hearing that, it's ironic how I'm her favourite student. She's pretty though, her wavy chocolate hair flowing down, large silver eyes fanned by those thick well-curled eyelashes. Light blush and a tint of lip gloss. It's annoying how she always turn topics into her own story time. She reminds me of my mother when she was young, maybe that's why I don't like her.... yeah no wonder I shunned her. I stared at my ceiling and slowly dazing off to my own world.