School has started and so have the comparisons. There is this girl I am becoming obsessed with, she is like my favorite book. She is smart and gentle and kind and everyone loves her. She floats around the school like she somehow has everything figured out. There is always some part of me that feels like I could be like her if I only tried. Some part of me believes I am some sort of revolutionary, only if revolutionaries sat back and observed people from a distance, gaping like they just saw the birth of Venus. I’m waiting to be stepped on and she is walking with her head held up as if she might just forget you’re there and crush your soul. Not in a bad way, obviously, but in a fallen-star-perfect-hair nightmare. I can’t help but compare myself to her. It’s impossible not to. I see her perfect handwriting, and her perfect scores; and find myself sitting at home at my wooden desk, mimicking the way she holds her pencil like it might hold the secret. Sometimes I get sad that I will never get to experience someone else’s life. I can never live inside her body and understand how it feels to be able to say and do the right things all the time. Even if it is some miraculous facade, I will never understand how easy it is for her to pretend.