A+ in Theatre Class

You see her in the halls.

She laughs with the same friends she’s had since kindergarten.

She throws her head back and lets out a big bellow of a laugh.

Her strawberry blonde hair catches glimpses of sunlight as she holds her stomach

 Because it’s just that funny.

You see her in classrooms.

She hovers over tattered textbooks, her hair cascading around her like a canopy.

 She reads faded print as she jots down everything she finds important.

She never gets smart with the teachers and she aces every test and answers every question that the teachers ask

Because she’s just that smart.

You see her in the lunchroom.

She picks through wilted lettuce and dares to try that cheesy triangle thing they call a quesadilla.

She unzips her backpack and cracks open a bag of hot Cheetos; but she never takes a bite.

She has her ear craned towards her friends as they demolish her Cheetos and talk about that stupid Spanish project that nobody wants to do

Because she is just that good.

But you’ll never see her at home.

You’ll never see her dabbing at mascara streaked eyelids, or wiping at a perfectly highlighted nose.

You’ll never see her washing off pounds of contour, eye shadow, and lipstick only to put it all back because she thinks she’ll never look pretty without it.

You’ll never see her crack open a bag of Cheetos or eat a Hershey bar and spoon scoops of goodness out of a mini pale of vanilla ice cream because

“Carbies don’t make Barbie’s.”

But you’ll never see it.

You’ll never know.

You’ll see her laughing with perfect lip-liner walking down the hallway.

You’ll see her crack open a bag of chips for her friends while doing that Spanish project that nobody wants to do because she’s just that good at her theatre class.

And you’ll never know