Flout and persiflage

We used to sit in the mall, Jenna and I, and watch the stupid teenyboppers go by. In their matching Lindsey-meets-Avril-meets-GAP-meets-Laguna Beach attire, they looked like mass-produced clones out to take over the world. Weapons of choice? Plaid minis, Ugg boots, cell phones, and too much makeup. It was like a bad school uniform. School of How to Blow Your Youth and Your Life. Or something.

But Jenna made it bearable.

Before she came along, I was like the only one who could think for myself. All my classmates looked up to these robo-girls, even if they weren't one of them. I never felt jealous or sad -- maybe just a little perplexed -- but I won't lie: I was really happy when Jenna came.

Then one day she showed up at the mall, and she looked just like them. I mean, not the plaid mini or Uggs exactly, but the same idea. The same uniform, the same hair, the same blank expression.

She never told me why, but I suspect it had to do with the new girl Christine. The cool girl Christine.

Jenna became everything we said we never would -- and she'd been more adamant than me! -- and I was left alone, on the bench by the ice rink, watching her and Christine and their gang of stupid teenyboppers, and wondering who would mock them with me now.