My name is Spencer Carlin and I am nineteen years old. I just moved here from Ohio to go to art school here in California. I am an artist, always have been it seems. When I feel sad or depressed art is my safe place. Art is who I am! Yeah I know it may sound a bit obessive and maybe I am but, it’s just who I am. I was happy to leave my close-minded small town and move to eccentric liberal California, to say I was out of place in my old town was an undersitatment. I stuck out like a sore thumb, always the weird artsy kid with her nose in a sketchbook. I didnt have many friends there so, I decided that I would move here and hopefully find myself in good company upon my fellow artistic souls. LA Arts, a school made for people like me. It’s not that I am a terrible, ugly person. I would seem to be that I would be a normal nineteen year old girl if I spent my time talking about boys and painting my nails. Nope I prefered canvases. If I wasnt perceived as so weird I would be called an attractive girl. I am tall and in great shape, with a slight tan. I had long, thick blond hair that fell a few inches past my shoulders. But, from what I’ve been told it is my eyes that are my best feature, I have big baby blue eyes. I have sculpted yet soft features and full lips. See that sounds like an attractive person, right?

Wrong! In my hometown I was just the odd, artist kid. Oh well, enough of that stupidity, that was then. Here everyone is just like me, I finally feel at home. I am super excited because today is the first day of classes and I am ready to jump up and down I’m so happy. It is time formy last class of the day and I am sitting at the coffee stop on campus, figeting with my hands. I was so excited I couldnt wait in my dorm room any longer, I was pacing back and forth, back and forth. Finally, my roommate told me to come here that maybe it would help take my mind off things. I was driving poor Kyla, that’s my roommate’s name crazy with all my pacing, she actually told me so. So, I’m here, I’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes and ten seconds, yes I’m counting the seconds because all normal, sane people do that, right? That’s what I thought! Kyla was wrong this is not helping at all. Screw it I’m walking to class I dont care if I’m early, I’m always early. Yeah, I’m one of the freaks that are waiting outside of class like twenty minutes before their class is suppose to start, oh well.