“I wasn’t like other girls, I was naturally beautiful and I didn’t need makeup like all the other girls. I’m so quirky and weird they all hate me for being different” I shut the book with an annoyed sigh. All the books I’d ever read in my life were all the same. A lonely quirky girl waiting to get swept up in the arms of the resident bad boy. Lord give me a break. There was also always an enemy who’s only probable cause of hating her was because she had stolen her man. Some authors really had no originality but I mean it’s hard coming up with a world or an alternative life when it can’t be taught. I don’t really know at this point what to do I like realistic fiction but how can I love something that I’ve read millions of times just with different names and descriptions. Someone snapping their fingers in my face was what broke me out of the internal rant I had going. I look up to see my brother, “Hey ugly, what’re you doing in the library?”