Why would my dad get me a diary for Christmas? What is he retarded? I thought that after he read my last one WITH my least favorite teacher who pretty much handed it to him and said, “Here, read your teenage daughter’s deepest, darkest secrets and thoughts even though you know that after you read it your relationship with her will never be the same and she’ll hate you. Go ahead!” That bitch. Ms. Siska never liked me and I will never liked her or forgive her after what she did to me. Letting your student’s father read her diary? After you already did? I know there has to be a rule against that. Yes, I got her in trouble when I told her boss, but not enough for her to lose her job. Shit. Since that incident last year when was in the 9th grade, I’ve never touched an empty journal again. I’ve gotten some as gifts but I usually just collect them, put them all in a box with all my other unwanted gifts and then give them away as gifts so that I don’t have to spend any money later on. Pretty good idea, huh? It’s June. I’ve had this journal since December, since before my birthday in January when I turned sixteen. It’s been months and all I’ve done with it is throw it my box with all the other diaries I’ve never opened. All the other gifts in my box went to my friends as birthday presents, but for some reason I’ve been holding onto this diary that I swore I would never use. Why would that asshole get me a diary for Christmas? There’s so much for me to say. There’s so much to write down but not enough space. Not enough time.
Entry Number One.
My name is E. Just E. I hate my real name. Erin Elizabeth. It's one of those "good girl" names, but I don't fit that title and I never will. I don't know why I'm using this journal. I try to stay away from empty books with little blue lines on the pages. The lines spell out TROUBLE, only no one else can see it but me.
