Previously: Part I.
Goosebumps (any title): The “tomboy” label stuck with you years after you felt that you’d grown out of it. It didn’t matter how you dressed or how you wore your hair or how quiet and low you pitched your voice; girls never told you their secret crushes and boys never bothered to tease you in the hallways. You wore dozens of thin leather bracelets on each wrist every single day.
The Rose That Grew From Concrete: You made mix tapes for anyone you had a conversation longer than five minutes with, not just for people you had a crush on. You were fascinated by ancient Egypt and checked out every book in the library that had a pyramid on the cover. You were friends with everyone.
Island of the Blue Dolphins: You thought that books about horses were for babies. Six months ago your favorite book was about a horse.
Christy: Your curfew was ten o’clock, weeknight or weekend, right up until the day you left for college. Your mother was more religious than your father, which isn’t saying much. Everyone at school hated it when your birthday came around because you always brought homemade cake to share with the class instead of the glossy, white sugar-cakes everyone else brought from Kroger’s on theirs.
Bunnicula: Your dad showed you Young Frankenstein and Monty Python and the Holy Grail when you were ten, and you laughed so hard he thought you were going to vomit. For years they were the only movies you would watch. Even your dad got sick of them, but you never did. If you could find a way to work a quote from either movie into a conversation, you would.
The Skin I’m In: You wrote a lot of poetry and never showed it to anyone.
Sideways Stories from Wayside School: All your friends were boys, your math teacher really “got” you, and you were good enough at drawing that popular girls would ask you to draw them at recess. Junior high was a relatively harmless time for you.
Ella Enchanted: You got your first boyfriend when you were 11 and dated until you were 16. Everyone considered the two of you married; it was a huge deal when you two split up. “She’ll be fine,” your best friend told your composition teacher in her most worldly voice the day you burst into tears the minute the bell rang. “She just needs to go to the nurse and lie down. She’ll be fine. I’ll take her.”
The Cricket in Times Square: You always hated – and still do – when publishers sell new editions of books that have had movie adaptations with stills from the movie on the cover.
Heir to the Empire (Star Wars EU): No one has ever used the word “mysterious” to describe you. Boisterous, maybe. Talkative, sometimes. Enthusiastic, often. Never mysterious.
[Image via Wikimedia Commons]