My hair was long and flowing and looked like a field of wheat on a sunny day. My eyes were as blue as the middle of the ocean and as soft as a the fur of a Pomeranian dog. My nose was symmetrical and fairly small. My lips looked as perfect as a supermodel’s lips. My skin was gorgeously tanned from countless days spent sunbathing at the pool and the beach and as smooth as a river rock. My neck was long and elegant, like a giraffe’s neck. My legs were also long and graceful. My body was thin and tall. The bikini I was wearing was the most expensive and fancy one available at the store. The top and bottom were both mostly orange, but the orange was surrounded by little black jewels that made the swimsuit look like a pool of lava surrounded by rocks. The coverup I had on over the bikini was all black and made of silk. Even my towel was leopard print and had gleaming gems on it. At least that’s what everyone thought of how I looked at what I wore. I liked to consider myself a normal person who looked normal and was not the daughter of two super-rich celebrities. At least at the pool paparazzis didn’t follow me around like a dog sniffing out a bone. At least at the pool, the only thing people said about me was about my fancy swimsuit and how tall and thin I was. No-one could recognize me with my hair under a cap and goggles covering my eyes and all of my makeup washed off. That’s why I went to the pool every summer day. Taking off my coverup, I ran to the edge of the pool, ready to jump in. “No running!” The lifeguard yelled. I slowed down but still jumped in with a huge splash. The water was cold, but I didn’t care. Flipping onto my back, I swam across the pool on my back. When I got to edge, I flipped to my stomach and started swimming in a butterfly stroke, slipping under the rope that separated the 8-foot deep end from the 5-foot area. I took a deep, thankful, breath, as I got to one side of the deep end. I crawled out of the pool, and, just as I was walking towards the waterslide, a voice called out my name. The voice of my mother, Lili Joes, who was a famous singer. “Teri! Have you seriously forgotten about my concert today?!” A million gazes turned on me as everyone realized that the daughter of a world-famous celebrity was at the neighborhood pool. I buried my face in my hands, whispering, “Why do I have to be perfect?”