U...Sweet Sixteen

My greatest fear is blowing out sixteen candles on my birthday
cake.

I remember blowing the candles out at my tenth birthday: My mom and
little sister next me (my dad and big sister were in Egypt), and the
girls from my class all around me (I didn't invite the boys because I
hated boys back then). I wished I would never have to ride a bike in
front of people because I was too embarrassed to admit I didn't know
how. Then I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply and as I started to blow, I
heard the snap of the camera and felt its sharp, sudden light.

I don't want anyone to see me blowing out the candles this April. I
don't want the rest of the world to know that I turned sixteen. I don't
feel sixteen. I didn't vote for a prom queen (I don't think I'll be
going to the prom). I didn't get heartbroken (I've never really had a
boyfriend)

I don't get the point of being a teenager. I don't get the point of
high school. It should just be about learning. Or I should be the
popular pretentious prom queen.

When I was younger, the other kids at school would call me a penguin
because I walk with my toes pointing outwards. My mom had said that I
have ballerina feet, and that had made it all better. But now when they
make fun of me, they make it all bad again.

I pretend I don't care. That I don't want to be popular, would rather
be deep. But I do.

At least I get to have an ID now. Probably the only card I'll have to
put in my wallet. It will have my address on it, and a black and whit
photo of me (I'll look really bad in it) and it will state that I am a
person in this world, worthy of having an ID. That makes me feel grown
up.

But I'm not really grown up. Almost there, but not really. It leaves me
little time to accomplish my dreams. Those dreams I had when I was
small to grow up and be like my mom, like my aunt, like my 3rd grade
music teacher, like the pink power ranger.

I'm scared I'll grow up and just be me.