I am Mary Rose. I have always been odd, I admit that. I understand that is who I am, you know that girl that is just off a little, laughs at the wrong moment, dresses the wrong way, is a little too tall,  the girl the other girls avoid.  I don’t know what it is about me. Men sense it too. I see it in their eyes, that look of annoyance or compassionate tolerance.  Sometimes I am fortunate to become a side kick or little sister. More often than not I am the girl eating alone reading a book.  I am always nice, happy, pleasant and helpful, but it seems in nature there is some genetic marker, some scent one gives off that marks you as an outsider. I accept that now. I see no reason to bemoan it; it has given me an independence, an observant nature, and a silence that in this new world order suits.  I have survived because I was an outsider. I watched groups die full of tough guys and popular girls, while I sat eating crackers with a book on a rooftop.  I have always lived in castles, just like the book title I am reading now.  I live have lived in castles of my own construction, and am untouchable, and because I am so quiet, so careful, not even the biters notice me, who knew my curse would become my greatest blessing.  I am Mary Rose; I am a survivor.