I don't like school. I hate the people, the work, the building, everything. I even hate my name. My name is Alex. It sounds normal, I know. I attend Tigerwood High, a school that has stayed the same since 1991. Everything is outdated and crusty. The only time anything changes is on picture day, and it just so happens that that is today.

 Although things look different, they don’t look good. Posters reminding everyone to “Smile Big!” and “Dress to Impress!” are all over the walls, taking up every noticeboard and magnetic surface. Although they are throughout the school, nobody pays attention to them. Last year, at least thirty kids claimed they forgot it was picture day, and another large group just didn’t care and wore whatever they wanted. Even though there were hundreds of kids, only ten wore nice outfits. A few girls wore long dresses with their hair done up. A couple of boys wore dress shirts and shoes. One guy even wore a tuxedo!

Even though it might be fun to dress up for pictures, there’s no way I would do it. I’d probably get bullied for what I’d wear or how my hair looked. I don't even like what boys would have to wear to be "formal". I wish I could be like the girls, and wear something as beautiful as they could. I know, it's weird. I'd get bullied even more if I even mentioned dresses. Boys can't wear dresses. I'm a boy. I can't wear dresses or skirts or anything pretty. Boys can't be pretty. My mom has neat, wavy, blonde hair, but mine’s a frizzy mess! No matter what I do, it’s the same. Today, I tried my best to get it to calm down, but it barely did anything. My hair still looked like a bird’s nest. At least, that’s what my mom had said. She always says to cut it, but I want it long. Even so, maybe I should cut it. Everyone always says it makes me look like a girl. I don't care, though. Is that weird? It's probably weird. I should cut it.

 I hadn’t smiled all day and probably wasn’t going to once, even when it was picture time. Every single year, something about the picture makes me hate it. My freckles look out of place, My hair is messy, I look chubby, or my eyes are closed. No matter what, something goes wrong. I never look good.

I looked down at my brown Vans and baggy sweatshirt as I walked through the hall, not looking up once. That’s a bad idea, but it makes me feel comfortable. A few minutes later, I bumped into someone. I got pushed back much harder than I expected, falling backward and landing on the ground, my hair in front of my blue eyes.

“Hey, watch it!” I started as I brushed the hair out of my face. A girl was standing next to me, wearing a beautiful navy dress with stars sewn onto it. The girl had long, curly black hair and eyes that seemed darker than a black hole. I stared at her shiny black shoes before looking back up at her. Her face looked as if she’d just murdered somebody. Other than that, she looked perfect. I wish I could look perfect too.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. Did you drop anything?” The girl asked, looking around on the floor for anything she may have caused me to let go of.

“Um, don’t worry! I didn’t drop anything. I’m sorry too, I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m..." I thought for a moment. I don't want to be called Alex. I wish I had a name like Sam or Sky or something. "I'm Alex. I like your dress!” I said awkwardly, starting to stand. The girl had her hand out, waiting for me to grab it. I gripped her hand, letting her help me up. I stood up and looked at her face closely for the first time. She had dark, shiny lip gloss on and little sparkles all over her face, like glitter, but smaller. She stepped back a little and apologized again. I watched her flatten out her beautiful dress and smile.

“Nice to meet you, Alex. My name’s Willow. I made my dress! I’m glad someone likes it.” The girl said, smiling widely. I wish I hadn't said that was my name. Her coiled hair bounced with the slightest movements. I watched it for a second before shaking my head and smiling back. Turns out I would smile today, after all.

“You made it? That’s so cool! My mom can sew, too. I tried it once, but accidentally made an upside-down pocket on her favorite skirt. It’s still there! It’s not very useful, but…” Stop talking! She’s going to think you’re weird! I thought to myself, trailing off.

She looked at me expectantly, like she wanted me to finish. I think I shouldn’t have stopped talking. I looked away awkwardly and pursed my lips. I messed up by trying to make sure I didn’t mess up! Great.

“Um. Cool! My mom taught me how to sew when I was younger. Who’s your next teacher?” Willow asked, smiling. Just before I could reply, the school bell buzzed to signal that the next period had already started.

“Oh. Bye! It was nice to meet you!” Willow said, rushing to get to her next class and further away from me. I waved as she ran towards another hallway opposite where I was going. Perfect. I was probably never going to see her again, or people would tell her how weird I was, and then she’d never speak to me even if she did see me. I wish I was as pretty as she was. God, I wish school was better.