I have two friends. That’s it. Just two. One is Becky. I love her like a sister. She’s another so-called “freak”. She doesn’t care that her dark hair frizzes out, giving her resemblance to a poodle. She doesn’t care that her thick, square glasses are “out of style”, nor does she care that almost every article of clothing she has is stained. And I don’t care either. She is spectacular, one of the best people I’ve ever met. She’s always around me. I’m her best friend…her only friend. She looks up to me. I have a great amount of sympathy for her. You see, when people make fun of me, I just ignore them. I don’t get upset, or even annoyed. Becky, on the other hand, falls apart. And because of how seriously she takes it, they bother her even more. She’ll run to the bathroom and cry for hours. Or she’ll just brake down crying right infront of everyone. I have to stick up for her a lot. I guess it gets to her because, she envies everyone who picks on her. She wishes she could be their friend.