The Nice Girl

Sometimes I dream of a revolution, a bloody coup d'etat by the second rank - troupes of actors slaughtered by their understudies, magicians sawn in half by indefatigably smiling glamour girls, cricket teams wiped out by marauding bands of twelfth men – I dream of champions chopped down by rabbit-punching sparring partners while eternal bridesmaids turn and rape the bridegrooms over the sausage rolls and parliamentary private secretaries plant bombs in the Minister's Humber – comedians die on provincial stages, robbed of their feeds by mutely triumphant stooges – and – march – an army of assistants and deputies, the seconds-in-command, the runners-up, the right-hand men - storming the palace gates wherein the second son has already mounted the throne having committed regicide with a croquet-mallet – stand-ins of the world, stand up! - Tom Stoppard, The Real Inspector Hound

I remember sport days in the sixth grade. They were my second worst day of the week, closely followed by those Wednesdays where we had to complete thirty random times tables in three minutes. It was the scariest one hundred and eighty seconds of every week.

Where was I? Oh yes, sport days. I was to the sporting field like a sportsperson is to the dance floor. My co ordination was so bad you could say I had two left feet, two left arms and two left eyes. By the time I got the hang of anything it was time to move on to another sport.

After a few weeks, baseball season was over, with soccer next on the agenda. I was the last person picked for a team, and my classmate's attempts of comforting me with the remark "Yeah! We've got The Brain on our team!" provided little compensation. It turned out that I was pretty good, and the following week I was picked first. Not because I was The Brain, but because I could actually kick.

I remember every year of junior high school. I thought I could continue my legacy as class prefect. I didn't realise how much of a popularity contest it was.

Instead, I was the girl the class captain copied her homework off. In a stream of second thoughts, I was the girl who people realised they should have voted for instead, a few months after the election.

Such confessions revealed to me in confidence were enough to keep me warm at night.

I remember when friendships were tested in senior high school. Large groups broke off into little, sometimes secret alliances. Throughout a time I'd like to call The Great Divide, I managed to keep the trust of each faction. Each side would openly bitch about the other to me because I was The Brains turned The Nice Girl.

I realised that regardless of how many fights a group has, no matter how many hours you spent listening to their grievances – by the time the dust has settled and friendships are reunited stronger than ever, this very neutrality keeps you tied to a string back at square one. You're still the girl who floats in between groups, whilst never really belonging to either one.

In remembrances I'd rather not indulge, I've been second to one boyfriend's social and work life. I've been second to another boyfriend's ex girlfriend. I've been second priority to my father ever since he started another family. I'm second to my best friend whenever he falls in love. I was second on my 18th birthday, when friends traded me for a party that served alcohol – friends I spent the best part of two years talking to, laughing with.

Some of you reading this might not relate at all, I hope I've increased awareness of someone you know, or will meet. Some of you reading this might relate all too well, I hope you know you're not the only one. Maybe our glory shines in a parallel universe; for this world is not kind to The Nice Girl and Guys. But we get by. That's what we're good at.