Stereotype Read Online Free Page A

teacher. I am sent off to be supervised along with assorted others, including Caroline, a fellow survivor of Junior Cert German. I sat beside her for three years and we bonded in hatred for the subject. Needless to say, we’re not planning on continuing with it for the Leaving.
    “Hey,” I say, sitting down beside her.
    “Hey. Not doing Irish dancing, huh?”
    “No.”
    “You must be heartbroken.”
    “I am.” I grin, pretending to wipe away a tear. “But I’ll cope.”
    “I bet. Have a good weekend?”
    “It was OK. How about you?”
    “Same. I was working all day Saturday.”
    “Fun.”
    “Oh yeah. There was one girl who came in looking for the Mandy Moore album and threw a fit when she realised we didn’t have it. She actually started screaming at me because it wasn’t in the shop.”
    “Oh my God. How old was she?”
    “About ten.” Caroline rolls her eyes. “I almost felt like yelling right back at her for having such crappy taste in music.”
    I laugh. OK, so I’m against judging people by what kind of music they listen to – but come on! No sane person would yell over Mandy Moore.
    “Did we all have such bad taste when we were kids?” she sighs.
    I nod. “Hate to tell you, but . . . yeah.”
    She smiles. “At least we recovered.”
    “True.”
    Pause. “I still listen to Britney, though,” she confesses sheepishly.
    “I bought the latest Westlife album,” I admit.
    We laugh.
    “This conversation never happened,” I say.
    “What conversation?” she asks innocently.
     
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    I’d love to be pretty. I wonder what it feels like, to be able to look in the mirror and beam at your reflection. Sure, I have my good days, the days when I feel that I don’t need to put a paper bag over my head. But there’s no way that I’m pretty.
    For starters, I am not tall and willowy and graceful, or petite and cute and delicate. I’m somewhere in between. Same with my figure – I’m not thin or fat, just average. I have freckles, but not too many of them. And my hair – oh, my hair.
    Ever read Anne of Green Gables ? You know the way she’s completely distraught over the fact that her hair is red? Well, that’s me. I like to call it “auburn”. It’s grown darker in recent years, which can only be a good thing, but it’s still most definitely not brown.
    If I could look like any one of my friends, I’d have to pick Sarah. Fiona is actually prettier than she is, but Sarah has one of those perpetually happy faces. Even if she’s depressed, she finds something to smile about, and that makes all the difference.
    Karen would never win a beauty pageant. OK, I wouldn’t either, I know. She’s not ugly or plain – she’s just average. Maybe it’s just that she’s been getting on my nerves lately. People always seem more attractive when you’re in a good mood with them. When you’re not, you project your irritation with them onto your perception of them. That’s my theory, anyway.
    It certainly would explain why I think the bleached-blonde look doesn’t work for so many of the bitches in our year. Then again, maybe it really is just absolutely hideous.
     
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    Lunch. Tina is talking about what she’s going to wear out this weekend. Leanne is planning how she’s going to get drink. Niamh is showing everyone the text messages from her boyfriend. Karen is participating in the fascinating discussion. I am not.
    I am Silent Abi. I sit. I observe. I get extremely bored. I leave.
    Caroline’s sitting in her classroom with her group. If I knew them better I’d go in, but I’m not the most socially adept person on the planet. I venture up to the Fifth-Year classrooms.
    Fiona and Sarah are sitting at the back of the classroom. Fiona is copying Sarah’s maths homework. Sarah is nibbling at a roll and sending text messages to someone. Possibly Shane. Probably Shane.
    “Texting Shane?” I ask.
    She looks up. “Hey, Abi. Yeah, it’s Shane.”
    “She