I need my journal. I need to write down everything that happened between us yesterday so I don’t forget. The library. Detention. Me finding Whit and bringing him back here…
I open the desk drawer where I keep my journal, but it’s not there. Frowning, I dig through the drawer, the stack of notebooks and journals I love to buy and never use, but it’s gone. I search the other drawers. The top of my desk. My backpack.
It’s not here.
Dread consumes me as I look around the room. I know what happened. I know.
That bastard took it.
My hands clench into fists, and it takes everything inside of me not to scream as loudly as I can. But that will only draw people’s attention, and that’s the last thing I need right now.
Whit stole my journal. The most private thing that belongs to me. I’d let him steal my body, my heart, everything I’ve got, before I’d let him even get a peek inside my journal.
And now he has it. It’s in his hands.
I collapse on the bed, my face in my pillow, and I wonder if I could suffocate myself with it. He could be reading it right now. I’ve kept that journal for years. Our first encounter is in it. Before I knew who he was. I found out pretty quickly after I wrote that entry, but it didn’t change how he made me feel.
Terrible. Wonderful.
Other things are in there too. Yates, and what we did. What he did to me. Those things are buried deep in the back of my journal where they belong, but they’re there. For Whit to read whenever he wants. I talk about the divorce. My issues at school. How my friends abandoned me when I needed them the most. My mother. Jonas. My real father, who barely acknowledges my existence.
All my damage is in that journal, and it’s not meant to be read by anyone else. I don’t even like to re-read it much. The past belongs where it is—firmly behind me.
And it’s in the hands of the boy who makes my life miserable every single day. A boy who will do whatever he can to ruin me completely. Including sharing my journal with others. I can only imagine him and his friends laughing over it as they read passages. He could make copies and share it with everyone. I would be the laughingstock of the school.
Worse? The authorities could be notified of what I did. I could be questioned. I could be…
Arrested.
I clutch the pillow to my face and scream and scream, the sound muffled. I yell until my throat is raw and aching. I yell some more, knowing it will hurt to talk, but not caring. What does it matter?
No one talks to me anyway.
After taking a shower, I spend the majority of my Saturday in my room, trying to do my homework. My concentration is shot, and I’m so tired. I end up sleeping the rest of the afternoon, only waking up to a sudden loud knock on my door.
I jolt up, pushing my hair out of my face, glancing around. The room is dark, and I see it’s dark outside as well. Grabbing my phone, I check the time. A little past six. I should go to the dining hall and grab some dinner.
The knock sounds again and I go to the door, my steps quiet, and rest my head against the door, as if that could tell me who’s standing on the other side of it. Saturday and Sunday the dorms are open, guests welcome until eight p.m. No one visits me though. I can only assume whoever’s knocking is bringing trouble with them.
“Summer! I know you’re in there,” says a vaguely familiar voice.
Slowly I unlock and open the door to find Sylvie standing there, a faint smile on her face. She’s clad in a pale pink oversized hoodie that swims on her thin body and black leggings, her feet clad in white Nikes. She offers me a little wave. “Your hair is a mess.”
I rest my hand on my head, feeling my still damp hair. “I took a nap.”
“I figured. Rough night last night?” She waggles her eyebrows, as if she knows everything that happened between me and her brother and I grab her hand, hauling her into my room and shutting the door.
“What did he tell you?” I ask, breathless. He talked about me with Sylvie, I just know it. That has to mean something, right?
“If you’re referring to my closed-mouth brother who doesn’t say boo to me, nothing,” she says, walking around my room with curiosity shining in her eyes. She turns to look at me. “You have nothing hanging on the walls.”
I shrug. I have photos in my desk. Of friends. My family. But my friends don’t care about me any longer, and my family is fucked up. Why would I want to look at them every day? It’s just a reminder of my old life. Was I happier then?
Sometimes. Sometimes not.
She drags her fingers along the edge of my desk, shuffling through the stack of notebooks there. Her obvious digging leaves me unnerved, but there’s nothing for her to find. The most important thing to me in the world is gone.
In her brother’s possession.
“I like your notebooks,” she says, her gaze returning to mine. There’s nothing deceptive behind it. She’s not looking for my secrets. My shoulders relax, but I’m still on edge.
“Thanks,” I say, defensive as always.
“I’m obsessed with them too, I have so many.” She continues as her searching gaze sweeps around my room. “There’s the cutest shop downtown. You should come with me sometime. You’d probably spend way too much money in there, like I do.”
“Why do you want to be my friend?” I ask her warily, cutting right to the chase.
She’s quiet for a moment, watching me. I do the same to her, noting yet again how thin she is. How her clothes hang off of her, the leggings only emphasizing how her legs look like narrow sticks.
“You intrigue me. I think you intrigue Whit too, though he’d never admit it out loud.” Sylvie hesitates for only a moment. “He asked me to cut the security cameras at your building last night.”
My heart bottoms out. I forgot all about the security cameras on us. Seeing me walk Whit inside. Watching as Whit left my dorm hall in the middle of the night.
“What do you mean?” I’m surprised I sound so calm. Inside, I’m quaking.
“He texted me last night around nine, asking if I would hack into the security system and cut the cameras on this specific building. The very one you live in. I did it for him, no questions asked. Anyone who was up to no good last night, they’re not going to get caught,” she explains, her eyes wide.
My face goes hot and I look away.
“This morning, I started to think. Why does Whit care about this dorm building? And why last night? I did a little investigating, and I saw you were one of the students who occupy a room. A private one.” Sylvie smiles, reminding me of a cat. “He also specifically mentioned the cameras on the west end of the building. And look at you, with your room on the west end.”
I say nothing. To protest would make me look guilty. Best to keep my mouth shut.
“I don’t want nor do I need any dirty details, but I’m going to assume you and my brother were together last night.” She raises a single delicate brow. Again, I remain mum. “And I have to admit, I’m impressed. Whit doesn’t usually dip his wick in girls that go to this school, especially newbies.”
“Who does he dip his wick in then, if not someone from this school?” I ask incredulously, wishing I could take the question back as soon as the words leave my mouth.