I decided to find out how people at school might react if one of the students never came back.
When you write a book for publication, you're writing it for other people to read.
Josh turns to me. “I can’t believe she’s writing these things.” “Not she,” I say. “Me.” “Why would anyone say this stuff about themselves on the Internet? It’s crazy!” “Exactly,” I say. “I’m going to be mentally ill in fifteen years, and that’s why my husband doesn’t want to be around me.
And in high school, people are always watching so there's always a reason to pose.
One little ripple started today could create a typhoon fifteen years from now.
And it feels strange, almost sad, to walk through ther empty halls. Each step I take sounds so lonely.