“Special.” That’s the word they used to describe me. I was a “special” girl. The school called me “Gifted” but my parents always referred to me as “special.” They said I should be honored.
There is nothing fun about being “special.” All I want to do is fit in. Isn’t that really all anyone wants to do? No matter how “Special” people claim that you are, you’d trade any of it—all of it—just to be like everyone else. And I’m sure I cannot be the only special person to think that way.