• RIIING!! My alarm clock screamed in my ear. I rubbed my sensitive ear and put my head up, still half asleep. I pried my eyes open to see how light it was. My curtains were open and parted in the middle, sun shining through the window and onto my bed. My TV hadn't been turned off after I fell asleep although I had it set on a timer, which was weird. I glanced at my clock. 10:24 am, Sunday, March 31, 2012. I rubbed one of my eyes with my free hand as I threw the comforter and blankets off me. I left my TV and fan on and walked out my bedroom door. At this point, I really didn't care.

    My name is Cece Adams, and I'm the most average 14 year old you're going to see anywhere nowadays. Now, this might not exactly be true. There might be at least a handful of other 14 year old girls who don't straighten their hair every day, trying to get pregnant, wearing so much make up you can't see their skin, or have a generous amount of acne. They probably like sleeping in on the weekends and looking like crap if they don't need to be anywhere. They won't care about unbrushed, tousled hair in the mornings. I know one of them is surely me. But since there are so many girls not like this, maybe the "normal" girls are starting to become the abnormal ones.

    I found my mom laying on the couch watching FOX News and reading a book, my new kitten Peach laying on her stomach purring. She looked up at me and smiled welcomingly. I smiled back sheepishly and gave a small wave, sitting next to her and stealing Peach. Peach is the kind of kitten that is nothing but fluff and huge eyes and fits into the palm of your hand perfectly, as if she was a young rabbit. Her purr was the loudest thing ever when she was feeling affectionate, and she never bit, scratched, or even hissed at anything.

    "Good morning, Cece," my mom chirped, sliding the bookmark into her book and closing it. I looked at the cover; "The Hunger Games". I sighed and laughed.

    "Morning, Mom," I replied. I really felt lucky about my mom; she was only 16 when she gave birth to me, so she's 29 now. She was more like my best friend than my mom.

    "Cece, don't you want Kym to come over today? She's prolly not busy," my mom piped up. I blinked and stared at her. Kym was my best friend and probably always will be. She'd be classifyed as one of the "abnormal" girls as well, just like me. I smiled and nodded, saying I'd call Kym later. I had things to tell her anyways. We hadn't talked since Wednesday. She wasn't even at school Thursday or Friday; I missed her.