I created her when I was five. I liked to think of her as my celebrity name, to be used when I became ­famous. I liked to imagine myself singing on a stage, or signing a book I wrote. I liked to think that my name would be plastered across clothing, written on notebooks, and used often in speech.

I liked to wish I were anybody but me, because I was an outcast. No ­matter what I said or did, I seemed to only have friends who chose me out of pity, not out of love.

So I would turn to my notebook and write as if I were Audrey Palmetto. As if I were that celebrity that every girl wishes she could be.

I wanted to be somebody. Anybody but me.

I hid behind that name like a mask as I wrote down my feelings on the ruled pieces of notebook paper. I played the role so well that even my friends thought I was Audrey Palmetto. I thought of myself as a secret actress. Everyone saw Audrey Palmetto smile, but only my journal knew I cried. Only my journal knew I was pretending.

I thought it was fun, at first, to play pretend. It was like playing house, or dress-up, one of the childish games you play when you're five, with fake happiness.

But I wanted real happiness. I wanted friends who you could call “BF4L” and not be lying. Someone I could be myself with, not my Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde companions. I wanted real smiles instead of smiles that hid tears. I wanted true contentment. The kind money couldn't buy; the kind ­Audrey Palmetto couldn't give me.

So when I went to high school, I ­decided to start fresh. I didn't know anyone. All I had was a pen, a journal, and a new story to write.

This is where the real me began.

Through the poems and songs I wrote, I came closer to knowing myself. Not Audrey Palmetto. Not the famous celebrity of my dreams. I was finally able to rid myself of my fake identity, my invisible mask. And I started to unearth the person Audrey Palmetto had covered up all of those years:

Frizzy-haired. Self-conscious. Musician. Writer. A bit crazy at times. Sometimes too loud. Obnoxious laugh. A little boy-obsessed. Makes many mistakes. Learns from them. Writes about them. Understands the male psyche better than algebra class. Likes compliments, but strives to be humble. Sometimes holds back from saying what she really means. Stands up for herself. Has two best friends that she wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

Believes in heaven. Believes that everything happens for a reason. ­Believes in herself.