Dedication: To all the stereotyped smart girls out there.
My freshman year of high school, I wanted to stop caring. I was so burnt-out, trying to be the perfect student. I had straight A’s, got 100s on nearly every test, hated myself if I got any less than that. That’s unrealistic. I felt I didn’t like anything. I didn’t want to get involved with any clubs or activities. I was very minimally involved in a couple of activities. I started playing piano and joined Drama Club even though neither of those things made me happy. I just wanted to do something because I knew I needed extracurriculars to get into a good college. Or at least that’s what people told me. But I didn’t even know if I wanted to go to college. I just wanted to make my dad happy. I just wanted him to be proud of me. And I didn’t have any other plan.
I was very anxious all the time. I wanted to cry nearly every day. I wanted to cry, but the tears never came. I had bad thoughts but I was too afraid to tell someone. “You? The smart girl? Someone like you couldn’t have a problem like that.”
I tried to diagnose myself with anxiety disorders. I knew I had extremely low self-esteem. I was ugly. I was a loner. I had maybe a total of 3 real friends. I thought I had OCD or ADHD, plus too many random diseases. I knew I had some unhealthy obsessions. I was addicted to my phone. I didn’t get enough sleep. The thoughts were annoying and uncontrollable. I didn’t take care of my hygiene. Maybe that’s why no one called me pretty. They called my shoes pretty once. I didn’t even like them. I had just been trying to fit in. No one likes my style. I don’t like it either. It doesn’t fit in, it just makes me stand out more. I dress like I’m 10. I’m not. But I guess smart girls don’t care about those things. Smart girls have no problems. Everything is easy.
I focused entirely on getting perfect grades because there was too much pressure to be perfect. Through all of middle school I’d been that perfect student, and I’d been proud to be that way. But once I started high school, it was all people thought of me. I was the “smart girl.” People bragged when they beat me on a test. All of my friends parents asked them “well, what did A** get?” whenever they didn’t do well on a test. I was the comparison. I wasn’t athletic, I wasn’t pretty, I didn’t have a social life, I was just smart.
At one point, I’d started to hide my grades from my friends when I checked them, which was at least 30 times a day. Sometimes I’d even lie about my test scores just so people wouldn’t talk about it. If I got a 100%, it was always “of course you did.” People felt I was bragging. I was the annoying smart girl. Or, if I got even 1 point off, I’d never hear the end of it. “Oh my gosh, A** got a 98%! I did better than her!” Or, “A** got a 98?! See, I told you it was hard if even she failed it.” I hated myself when people talked about me like that. They think it’s a compliment, but it’s really not when it’s all I hear. I’ve never been called pretty. Or a good friend. I don’t have many friends. Just a few close ones, but they call me the smart girl too. They don’t use me like others do, but I feel like sometimes that’s all I am to them. The smart girl.
Looking back at old texts from 7th grade, when I thought I was more than the smart girl, I realized that people thought of me that way then too. There’s one girl, let’s call her R, she used me. All we ever texted about was homework. “What did you get for the math hw?” “Can you send me what you put for your science essay? So I can compare?” I’d always given it to her. Because I wanted a friend. How stupid of me.
In 8th grade, I think that’s when I started to realize. My Spanish teacher used to call me out to the class about how smart I was. “A** did so well on her assignment, she might as well skip the unit test!” It was a joke. She’d told me after. But the class didn’t know that.
Then there was a girl we’ll call I.K. I always hated her. She used to always ask what I got on every test. Then she’d call out to the whole class my grade when she did better than me. She was quiet when my score was higher.
I didn’t realize how much people took advantage of the smart girl in middle school. In high school, I was more aware. J.S. took advantage. A.K. took advantage. I really hate A.K. J.S. was nice, she was a smart girl too. But now I wonder if she was only smart because I helped her. I’ve stopped answering her texts now. Sorry. Wait, not sorry.
My freshman year of high school, I wanted to stop caring. But I couldn’t. Because what would happen then? I had no purpose. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do with my life. Get good grades, go to college… go to college for what? Why? did I even want to go there? I don’t have a purpose. I’m just smart. That’s all I am.
I don’t know why most of this is written in past tense. I’m 14 right now. I’m halfway through my freshman year. Well, a bit more than that actually. Today is February 22, 2025. Right now, I’m sitting on my bedroom floor. These words are flowing out of me. I didn’t expect that. I used to want to be a writer. But words don’t flow out of me when I want to write a story. But that’s what I’m doing right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen with my life. But I know that I want to be known for something. Something that isn’t just the “smart girl.”
To all the people reading this right now, stop nicknaming her the smart girl. She doesn’t like it. I guess it’s okay occasionally, but don’t make it define her. “Oh, you know A**?” “Which A**?” “The smart one.” I don’t want to be the smart one. I want to be the kind one. The funny one. The cool one. Maybe even the pretty one, for once. Just stop calling me the smart girl.
To you, it might seem like a compliment.
To me, it’s the opposite.
It means I’m nothing to you.
Nothing but a tool.
Nothing but The Smart Girl.