Then the doorbell rang and I heard "his" voice, and the butterflies in my stomach took flight. In that moment of feminine brilliance, I leaned right over and kissed you, leaving the mauve marks of two 16-year-old lips as a momento of the evening.

If you remember that night, you'll probably remember the one six months later when that same boy called to say that he "just wanted to be friends." I gently set the phone down, sitting on the counter again, but this time instead of brushing mascara onto my eyelashes, I watched as it ran down my cheeks in a stream of tears.

I knew I would be OK, but I couldn't help feeling lonely and dejected, and while I cried, you silently witnessed my first heartbreak.

What about the night that I impulsively dyed my hair? It didn't matter if the color had a slightly neon effect, or that my hair-dresser had informed me days earlier that box dyes would damage my hair for good. I grabbed my best friend and purchased a box of "Roasted Chestnut" color anyway, and when we returned, there you were, ready to observe the fun.

Twenty minutes later the hairdryer was out and the reflection you gave me revealed that the color on the box isn't always the color produced. My friend and I laughed our heads off.

You've seen the beginning and end of nearly every day of my life, but now it is time for me to leave you. Pretty soon I will be staring into the image of another mirror, probably in some tiny apartment, and chances are a few other roommates will be staring into its image as well.

You've probably noticed the stress in my face — people need to know test scores and grades, they want to see achievements and awards, and as I throw myself out into the world it is easy to view me as a portfolio, a list of accomplishments. But what I want to say is that no matter what this world sees me as, you have seen who I really am.

I am a young adult headed into college, but I am also a 7-year-old sweetheart with poofy bangs. I am a silly little girl who loves to climb on dirt hills, and I am a pre-teen who understands the pain of wearing braces. I am a confident, suit-wearing debater, and I am a young woman who puts lipstick on before each date. I am a heartbroken teen, and at the same time my heart is connected to people who love me even if my hair is neon.

You've imagined yourself as my bathroom mirror, and as the rest of the world demands to know who I am, I hope they'll see every reflection.

Biography

Micail Mann is a senior at Sky View High School and doesn't know where she wants to go to school next year or what she wants to do with the rest of her life. "I have too many ideas. It's a good thing I still have lots of time to decide," she says.

But one day she was looking in her mirror and began thinking about all that the mirror had seen over the years, and that became the subject of her winning story.

As she has been sending in college applications, "I realized how my life right now is summed up by test scores. Whenever you meet someone new, I think you should try to look past all that and see who they really are — like the mirror does."

Mann loves to write, she says, and does a lot in her school classes. She is also on the debate team and enjoys running — for sport, not for competition.

She is the daughter of Roger and Jill Mann, and has a younger sister and brother. The family lives in Hyde Park.

—Carma Wadley