If you're Sakeko, go away plz? 'Cause this is all secrety and stuff. XD;;
What my birth certificate says is a secret
I was born on November o3, 1994
So right now I'm 16
I'm a little like this:
I was once a sweet, open little girl, but that was a long time ago, back before a lot of things happened. Now I'm the girl on the edge of the crowd who watches everyone with dark eyes and makes no effort to make friends. No, I'm not emo; and the fact that I choose not to always go to school does not mean I'm a "bad girl." I know it all anyway; it's trivial. And everyone there is absolutely insipid. I'm talking about the teachers too.
That's another thing: I resent authority. Make that hate. I hate authorit, and jumping through hoops. And let me guess: Right now you're cocking your head at me, confused. "She certainly doesn't dress like a punk," you're murmuring as you try to fit me into some stereotype or other. Here's your answer: I'm a House kid. And if you don't know what that means, you never had a chance at defining me to begin with.
And here's why:
I was born to a single, college-aged mother in the city of brotherly love. (Here's some advice: if you're going to make love with your spineless, commitment-phobic boyfriend as a last hurrah before he leaves to go be a Japanophile in Japan, use protection. It makes life easier.) Well. Her parents--technically my grandparents, though I've never spoken to them--gave her the option of either aborting me or being disowned. Obviously, she chose disownment. Lucky for the both of us, her older sister--my Auntie Cassie--was and still is a complete sweetheart. She often babysat me when Mom went off to work. Auntie was working on a graduate thesis in graphic design at the time, so she had to have had a lot of patience to deal with a screaming baby as well. Fortunately, I matured really quickly. I taught myself to read by age two and a half, and by the time I was five, I was reading simple chapter books.
Around that time, we'd started making Saturday our "together day." We often went out to lunch or dinner, but my favorite days we were those that found us at the Franklin Institute. It's this huge museum in Philadelphia with all sorts of interactive science exhibits, really fun, though I haven't been there in years. So despite the rough start, my life was relatively happy for the first five years.
Then disaster number one occurred.
When I was five--when I was at school one day--my mother was walking to a Subway to get a sandwich, and she was shot accidentally in some sort of gang violence. From a card in her wallet, police contacted Auntie; she called me out of school and explained what had happened. I was of course heartbroken, but even more powerfully than that, I was suddenly phobic. I was suddenly terrified of going out into the city. To make me feel better, Auntie promised to take me to the Franklin Institute on Saturday. And... well, I had always felt safe there, so I hatched a plan reminiscient of one I had read in The Mixed-Up Files of Basil E. Frankweiler: I would make Fraklin Institute my new home, where I could feel safe and wouldn't have to go out into the world. So I snuck away from Auntie and started a massive game of hide-and-seek. She spent the rest of the afternoon looking for me, and at closing time, the guards encouraged her not to worry, sent her home, and kept looking for me.
And I actually managed to evade them for a few nights. (It's quite comfortable inside that giant heart they have.)
When I was found, oh, it was all over the news, how I was this brilliant little girl who not only hid
from museum security for several nights running but also how I got the idea from a chapter book which I could already read, oh my! And in one of the interviews, I said a few things--how I admired not Claudia or James, but Mrs. Frankweiler herself, for her desire to know so much and keep to herself what was hers.
Words like that coming out of a precocious orphan are bound to draw a lot of attention. They drew the attention of one person in particular--Mr. Wammy, founder of The Wammy's House orphanage. It took some convincing on both Auntie's part and mine, but eventually I wound up in England. The girl who had my birth name stopped existing, and Rosie was born.
(Actually, it was a little more complicated than that. Because I had been made into such a big deal, I couldn't just disappear so easily. The official story is that Auntie took me out of public schooling and decided to homeschool me.)
So, life at Wammy's House... I was actually one of the younger kids there, when I first arrived. I dunno. It's hard to talk about. I mean, it's (dramatic voice) shrouded in secrecy (back to normal now) and all that. So I dunno. I learned a lot, about the world, about deceit, about how to manipulate people. I worshipped the ground that I was told L walked on. I was happy, even though I didn't fully agree with the "use people as tools" philosophy.
Disaster number two: December fifth, 'o4. Well, November fifth, I suppose. But... if you don't already know what happened then, I can't discuss it with you. Needless to say, it broke almost all of us. Half the students who were there left. ...Why? It's hard to say. Overwhelming disappointment, listlessness... And I think some of us were frightened by how obsessed our lives had been. We were craving normalcy. I was, at least. (Ha.)
So, in the next few months, I contacted Auntie Cassie, who had by that time married and become Cassandra West. She kindly agreed to adopt me--which had been the plan originally, after disaster number one--and I moved back in with her and her husband Rob, and I returned to a normal life. In Philadelphia again, but I'm much too sensible to be phobic now. Except there were some problems. I resented school--education at the House is at college level, so it seemed like a total waste of time to me to attend public school. I caused my aunt a lot of stress over that, and I don't think Rob likes me very much for it. And on top of all of that, there's the stress of still having that demon Kira terrorizing the world... I'm walking a thin line between normalcy and House-kid insanity here.
Make me smile::
Information
Dark purple
Quoting
Independence
Being judged according to my maturity and intelligence, not my age
Don't make me cry::
Japanophiles
Jumping through hoops
Manipulating people (without good reason)
People who think they're better than me and obviously aren't. (We're all arrogant jerks. Get used to it.)
Almost forgot: Please, please call me Ditto. Rosie is... a past part of my life. Someone from the House gave me the nickname Ditto because when I get stressed or can't think of the words for something, I tend to copy situations and phrases from media. (Books, movies, songs... you name it.) So he called me after a Pokémon who can only transform into others and doesn't have any real merit on its own... how sweet of him.
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HOLY CRAP THAT WOUND UP BEING REALLY LONG.
