When she was pulled from the sidelines into the real world, she did what she had seen others do. Listened and spoke sometimes, using the learned behaviour. Using routines like memorized facts, she applied her knowledge and pulled it off, most of the time. People like her, somehow.

She can't do it all the time. Sometimes, it's all too much and she has to let go. She doesn't know how to pick the people who will accept her, and doesn't dare approach them. Afraid to be exposed and vulnerable. Nervous and insecure, bits of the wirlwind inside her head break through.

Every now and then, someone sees through the act. The fidgeting and anxious looks gave her away, she thinks. She supposes they are clever enough to figure out no one can pretend all the time. She has no idea how they know she pretends -- the tiny drops of truth cannot give that much away, can they?

She is a great actress. Brilliant, even. She plays people like violins; carefully and practised, and hits the wrong note only rarely. When she does, they like her even more.

Flawed people are easier to like. And everyone knows, instinctively, that behind her mask, this girl is damaged.
 

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