Common Garden Variety Teenager

A girl, not more than fourteen, walked down the side of the road, her face contorted with rage, sorrow, and confusion, a tennis racket in her left hand, her right hand balled into a fist. Her beautiful features themselves held sort of a sadness that carried into her long graceful stride. Curiosity got the better of me, and i pulled over to the side of the small town road to offer my help or comfort. Imagine! Me! A well-respected psychologist pulling over to help a common teenager. My arrogance was softened by her heart-melting features. When I offered, she didn't scowl as I expected her too, but folded, and begged me to give her a ride to the library. I obliged, and inquired about her tennis racket on the way there. She quickly got defensive, but told me that she was intending to meet a friend who didn't show up. Then she folded again and confessed that she thought he assumed it was a joke when she asked him to meet her there. I was releived to realize that I was just dealing with a common garden variety teenager. I dropped her off at the library, where she proceeded to hand me what looked like money, and even as i attempted to protest, she ran off. Upon closer examination, the strips of paper were emblazoned with intricate drawings of fantastic worlds. Was that the work of a common garden variety teenager? I think not.