When I Was Twelve

When I was twelve, I tried to kill myself.

I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't.

I had it all planned out. I began taking swims in our pool late at night. My parents worried about this, but they figured the pool lights and fence would keep me safe. They even though these swims might help me get through whatever I was going through.

They had no idea, though.

I was just sick of it. Sick of it all. I was good at lots of things, but not good enough at any of them.

"Jack of all trades, master of none."

One day, I couldn't take it anymore. "Tonight is the night," I told myself. As soon as I got home, I checked to see if anyone was home. After finding no one, I went to my dad's workbench and pulled out a knife.

My few friends always told me, "Oh, Hermione, you're good at lots of things." But I was never the best at anything. And it was hard, watching all these people better than me, but not being able to come anywhere close because I just didn't have the raw talent.

And it killed me, little by little. I hated who I was. Looking back, I think I was in the worst possible position. I wasn't good enough to ever achieve anything but the background, but I wasn't bad enough to not care. I was caught in the middle, always failing at everything.

Except school. But at St. Catherine's Academy, a special school for talented children, that wasn't always a good thing. Because, once again, I was not the best. So, I was pushed, pushed, pushed, beyond the limits any person could take, and I began to crack, not acheiveing anything, not caring about learning, just wanting that 10 out of 10 on my paper. But that 100% was a double-edged sword. If I got an A, I was promoted, given more work, harder work, which I couldn't do because I didn't have time or energy. But if I didn't get that A...

I grabbed a pair of gloves, too. The way I saw it, suicide was shame. It was "I'm such a pathetic person, I have to kill myself, because no one else thinks me worth their time". I didn't want that shame. I knew I was a pathetic person, but I didn't need the entire world to know. I didn't want the last thing I ever did to be a joke. I wanted some respect. I loved my family, too, and I knew that my suicide would kill them. My death would, but knowing I took my own life would hurt them and my two friends beyond belief. They would forever look back, and ask themselves, "What could have I done?" So, it was my goal for no one to ever know this was suicide. I headed out to the back porch.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," Mrs. Sarintino told me, staring down at me, her eyes cold, "It's just, there are so many flute players, and we couldn't possibly take all of them. And just, well, they..."

They have more talent than me, I know, I thought silently.

"Well, their auditions just went very well. And I had to judge solely off the auditions, and, well, we just can't possibly fit you in here."

The only flute player in upper band to be cut. The only one. Once again, good enough to make the upper group, not good enough to accomplish anything once I got there.

I kneeled down by the power box for the pool light. I had seen enough crime shows to know what needed to be done. I always saw how the CSIs caught the criminals and though "Stupid! If you just would have..."

My hair was tied up and tucked in my hood. The gloves were tight around my hands. No skin was visible anywhere. I took the knife, and as I opened the breaker box, I was thankful for the tall, heavy bushes surrounding me and for the fact that St. Catherine's let out a half-hour before all others. I opened the power box silently and pulled out the knife.

It was the 2^nd quarter of our final qualifier game. "Hermione, you're in!" Coach Pratt yelled. I ran out on to the court. Things looked good. We were already up by 15 points, and, by winning this game, we would advance to State. Our team had been doing very well this season. I hadn't been playing much, but, well, I had made the team and we were doing well.

I got the ball and dribbled down the court. Kelly was open, right by the hoop. I passed, a nice chest pass that soared right to her. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a girl from the other team appeared and snatched the ball, dribbled down to the other end and scored a three-pointer.

My teammates were livid. "Didn't you see her!" they screamed.

Our lead began evaporating. By the third quarter, we were down by 10. And I was playing terribly. Needless, to say coach pulled me.

As soon as he pulled me out, the tide began changing. We won the game by 5.

Good enough to make the team, not good enough to do anything once I got there.

I sawed at the wires, making it look as if mice had chewed at them. I made sure there were several wires chewed. When I finished, I tested the lights to see if they worked. They didn't. I smiled, washed the knife, returned it, took the gloves off, and returned them to the coatroom.

I was decently pretty. I was one of those girl-next-door types, with the cute clothes and smile, who was pretty but not enough. I was not what any guy ever fantasized about.

Until I met Chad. He smiled at me, flirted with me, and my only friend told me his eyes got big when he looked at me.

I flirted with him nonstop. And one day, I asked him what he was doing that weekend. His eyes got big, and not from looking at me either. I saw them widen in fear, and realized I had made a mistake. A big one.

"Uh, Hermione, uh, you're nice and all, and I like you, and think you're pretty and everything, but, not like that. Like I'm not attracted to you or anything. I just think you're a nice person. Don't worry, though. There are other guys in this school who'll think like you thought I thought, er...."

He was wrong. I knew no others and wasn't the kind of girl who was noticeable.

Good enough, but not.

I kissed my parents goodnight. I went up to my room and waited for the time to come.

Waited, patiently, silently, only slightly afraid, staring out the window at the moon.

Below it, the pool shimmered in the light, beckoning to me.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Mr. Stern said, "But we just can't possible print this picture." He paused to sigh, and gestured down at the picture I had drawn of the play for the school newspaper.

By now, I could predict the rest of the speech. It's good, just we've received so many others, and, well, theirs just seem to jump off the page more.

"It's good, you're a very talented artist. I hear you have an A in Advanced Three-dimensional Drawing," he continued, "but we've received so many others, and, well, their drawings just seem to jump off the page more. Yours is just lacking in some basics things. Next time you draw, why don't you try..."

Good enough, but not.

I changed into my swimsuit, grabbed my towel, and headed down the stairs. I needed to make it look like I was planning on swimming. And I was.

I just wasn't planning on returning.

Rejected again, I thought as I held the application form. I just could not get into the honor society. My credentials were "only slightly lacking. We suggest you reapply as soon as they are strengthened."

Good, but not good enough.

I sighed, and headed down the hall to Katie's locker. I stopped midway there. I remembered our fight. She said she couldn't be friends with me anymore because there's just "too much drama with you."

My last friend had lied when she said that. Apparently, I wasn't a good enough actor to get a speaking role in the play.

Good enough to lose my only friend, not good enough to accomplish anything.

I stood, my toes to the edge of the shallowest part of the pool. I had already splashed water all around the edges, so it would appear that I had tripped and fell in. Hopefully, I would break my neck on the bottom of the pool and drown. Or, be knocked unconscious. As long as I died, I really didn't care.

I stood, bent my knees, and prepared to dive in. As I did, I caught a glance of my reflection. Good, but not good enough, I thought to myself.

But the sight of my face stopped me for a second. Why was I doing this? The sight of my face also reminded me.

I hated myself. I hated who I was, who I was condemned to be. The only way of getting rid of that mildly pretty girl who was halfway-smart, an ok artist, a mediocre flute player, decent actress, reasonable athlete was to kill me. That was who I was.

But was that who I had to be?

Was there anyway to make what I hated disappear besides death?

I stared at my reflection some more, and realized I had 1 month until I graduated from Saint Catherine's. Then, I would be going to high school.

I could go to any high school I wanted. One with no one I knew.

I could be whoever I wanted to be there. As long as no one knew me, they wouldn't know lies from the truth.

Who I was going to be didn't have to be me. It could be a lie. Living a lie would be more preferable to who I was now.

As I stared at my reflection, I began imagining this person I would be.

Well, for one thing, I though, I'm not going to straighten my hair anymore. I'll be smart, go to a school with regular kids, so I'm the only one pushing me. I'll care actually about learning, and then I won't have to worry about the grades. I'll be a leader. I won't let anyone push me around anymore. I won't be shy. I'll talk to everyone and anyone I want. I'll learn a new instrument, screw flute! Maybe I'll try to sing. And forget basketball, I'm beginning to hate the sport. There have to be other sports to play. Or maybe, I'll just watch and cheer and no one will care. Because I won't.

So, standing by the pool, I decided who I wanted to become. I would not go to St. Catherine's High School. I would find someplace else to go.

I'd be someone else. Maybe worse at some things, but I'd find something to be the best at.

In the moonlight that night, I jumped into the pool and killed myself. The old Hermione Granger. Sure, she struggled on for a month more, but as soon as graduation ended, so did she. Underneath her, the entire time, grew the new Hermione Granger who was born when I stepped out of the pool that day.

I received the letter from Hogwarts the day after graduation. My hands shook when I read it. This is it, I thought, This is my chance for the new me to live. No one here knows me. I can be who I've created. I can live the lie I made.

And I did. I went on to be top of my class (finally the best at something) and to find a whole bunch of great friends, especially Harry and Ron, after having some initially difficulties where the new me had to learn how to act around people.

But, I was finally happy with who I was.

The only problem was, it wasn't me. I began to realize perhaps I hadn't done as good a job killing the old me as I thought. She lived on inside me, and keeping her trapped inside was hard work. It began to wear me out. I started becoming tired with the lie.

But, I was alive. At least, my body was.