Her hair was a long wiry mess, and her t-shirt had an orange stain on it. I buried my head in my book. I knew who she was; she was that girl. The one with the smelly greasy hair, the dirty clothes, and the sneakers ripped at the bottom. She was the weird one that other kids made fun of, but that wasn't me. I was the quiet one that nobody noticed and I preferred it that way. The next day she found me again.