Question: Will you be posting the next chapter?
Warning: This work has been rated 18+ for language.
**Quick disclaimer:
This novel won an award from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, who hold the right to distribute it. I still have the right to publish it here so that's that. I just need to put that little byline in.**
Things I'd Rather Do Than Sit Here, Feeling Worthless:
“And I hope you have a great summer... your last summer as high school students... It really has been a great year, guys. It's been... fun.”
My pencil slips out of my damn sweaty hand just as my physics teacher starts to fan himself with a piece of paper lying on his desk, probably a grading sheet that has a million and a half zeros in my column. Unfortunately, I've forgotten how to care about zeros and am instead caring about this list, and caring about the fact that I will be done with my junior year in approximately ten minutes, and I am choosing to care about the fact that my lab partner is reading my list and not even trying to hide it.
10. Have Chrissy as my lab partner for AP Bio next year, or whatever shit I'm even taking.
Chrissy reads this as I write it and says under her breath, “Calm down.”
As Mr. O'Hara tries to crack open a window, I say, “I'm perfectly calm.”
“You're acting like my reading over your shoulder is some huge sin,” Chrissy says in her nasally voice, her pink lips curved in a frown that still makes her look pretty.
“It's kind of private writing. I'd prefer if you didn't read it.”
Chrissy snickers too loudly and says, “What part of your life is private anymore, Alice?”
I nearly break my pencil in two, but refrain. I could choose to say, “The part where I dance in satanic rituals in the woods” or “The part where I hunt vampires in my free time” but these are not things that Alice Robinson says, and these are not things that I want to say anymore, because all I want is to hold my list close to myself and sink into the linoleum.
“You know, I'm sorry you had a shitty year, but nobody's going to remember anything after the summer. Go talk to KiKi again, who gives a shit?” Chrissy says, like she's some expert on my life because we've been sitting in Physics and US History together for the last nine months and talking only when necessary. “Honestly, you're like, in love with her, and that's why she's mad, right? You guys are like in some lesbian relationship and she's mad because you cheated on her?”
I've heard this rumor seventeen and a half million times, and each time its effect does not weaken, but instead, each time I only feel shittier and shittier because it's so far from the truth, but it's easier to accept, so maybe I should just get up on the rooftops and shout, “I AM IN LOVE WITH KIKI SANDERS, SUCK IT” but that's not even close to true.
“I'm straight,” I tell Chrissy, because this is the truth.
“Jesus Christ. You know what? I actually don't give a shit who you like or what happens in the bedroom with you, because people will not shut up about you, and honestly, it's getting old,” Chrissy says, because this is a huge revelation for her, and she is a genius and a master of the universe and knows exactly what the hell she's talking about.
Chrissy says that It's getting old, and damn, I feel sorry for her. I feel so sorry that she's had to go the last two months listening to people talking shit about her lab partner, I feel so sorry that she's had to suffer sixty long days and nights of spreading lies about me and delving into my personal life that she had no right to in the first place, I am so fucking sorry.
It can't be much worse than feeling fifty pairs of eyes on you every time you walk through the hallway, it can't be much worse than having a violation of every right you were taught you had growing up being ripped from you and then made out to be something different in its entirety, until everybody has stuck labels on you and you can't peel them off. It can't be much worse than that, right?
11. Go to another boring-ass Sweet Sixteen to rack the tally up to a solid ten.
“I appreciate it,” I mutter under my breath, because I don't have much dignity left at this point, and there are only seven more minutes left of my junior year, and I just need to make it out alive.
My physics teacher closes up his cheesy speech and reminds us to check our AP Exam scores online when the time comes. I know my score will be a one or a two, because I took that exam in the midst of my own personal Hell and I didn't bother studying for it, and I almost started crying during it, so there's no way that I did well, and I don't really want to see that score.
I watch the clock, and I wait for all my patience to be worth while, for me to be able to hide out in my bedroom every day and lie on my back lawn and read a book and have nobody bother me ever again. This summer will be pure bliss compared to these last two months, I swear to God.
When the bell rings, I still feel that same pang of anxiety attack every muscle in my body, telling me not to go out into the hall, because I will be walking in that hall alone, and eyes will follow me and lips will spill whispers about me, and I will float out into the atmosphere and never come back. And yet, I am joining my peers on our last walk through the brick hallways until September. I am joining the rotating vortex of students who are all utterly alike and do not have many passions besides talking about each other and judging each other, making sure that everybody fits their standards.
I do not fit anybody's standards, and I do not fit my own standards, and I am pulling my open loose cardigan closed, over my cleavage that is always shown with this tank top, and I am praying to a God that I sort of kind of stopped believing in a few years ago, praying that I do not see anybody that was there that night in this hallway, and that I do not see Reis, do not let me see Reis.
Then I curse myself for even thinking his name. I curse myself and I curse all these kids in the hallway and I curse the talk of parties tonight and the talk of getting lunch and I curse everything in between.
I make it down the staircase and am making my way to the bus circle when I feel a hand over my cardigan-clad shoulder.
I flinch, and start to slow down in the mass of people all trying to get to one place. I know better than to stand in the middle of the stream of ecstatic students, so I practically push myself up against the wall, knowing that it's Max again, because why wouldn't it be Max?
Times This Week Max Has Pestered Me About Coming Back To Newspaper
“Hey, Alice,” Max says, his stupid glasses falling down the bridge of his nose because he's actually sweating there, too. Everybody's sweating. This school needs air conditioning. “I just wanted to remind you to come to newspaper. If you could. The last print issue is being sent to the printers tomorrow, but we're not even close to being done with the formatting. And, uh, you know, you're so good with formatting, it would be really helpful. We really need to get it done and, you know, strength in numbers.”
“Um, I don't think I actually can,” I practically stutter.
I hate the fact that I'm stuttering. I hate the fact that this is what I've been reduced to.
“Can you just stay for like, one hour? I can give you a ride home-”
“No. I can't stay.”
Max's lips form a perfect one hundred eighty degree line, and I know that this is what he does when he wants to say something really badly but decides better of it. He's been doing it since he was five. Dear Lord.
“You must be really busy,” he says, which I'm sure is a very edited and censored version of what he wanted to say.
“Yeah. You know. Busy.” I hold my hands out in a “What are you going to do?” gesture, because really, what's he going to do, drag me kicking and screaming to the computer lab?
Excuses I've Given Max For Not Going To Newspaper When He Is Fully Aware of the Actual Reason
It's fair to say that Max is getting very, very sick of my bullshit. But that's his problem. He could have given up by now; there is no way in hell I'm going back there.
“Well, we're still crediting you as the sports editor in the paper. And there are some articles that need to be touched up, so maybe if you wanted to, you could...”
“I'm busy.” I'm almost whispering at this point, and Max is only getting louder.
“Look, I normally wouldn't push you like this, but we really need the help, and-”
“I can't, Max. And now I'm going to miss my bus.”
I leave Max standing there in his dorky-ass Vote For Pedro shirt that I told him to get rid of a good two years ago, and he's looking at me like I'm a completely lost cause, and it makes me really sick to my stomach to think that he was once the sole person I could tell anything to, and it makes me sick to my stomach to think that of everyone in the Fantabulous Four, I've now lost him also.
And then I'm thinking about the other two members of the Fantabulous Four, and I feel really sick to my stomach again, because everything has changed and I want to go back to being six years old.
And then I see KiKi, and I nearly throw up everywhere.
She's wearing a pair of shorts that we bought together last summer in Cape Cod. I'm pretty sure I don't fit into mine anymore, but her skinny legs actually make the shorts look big, and for some reason this really pisses me off, but it shouldn't. She's walking with Wes, some asshole that I'd like to say she wouldn't have hung out with if I were still friends with her, but something tells me that she hung out with a lot of people that I didn't know about. Her curly hair is in its perfect ringlets, and she is trying so hard not to look at me that we're actually making eye contact at this point, and it hasn't gotten any less awkward since the last time we talked, when she told me she didn't believe me, when she told me that I would have told her earlier if it really was the truth, and I figured that it was probably best not to continue to be friends with somebody who won't believe her best friend about her sexual assault issue.
I try not to think about it, I try not to think about her, I try not to think about the fact that for the past five last days of school we would always go swimming in her pool and her parents would barbecue and it would be the best possible thing on Earth. Now I'm not invited, because I'm a “slut.” And I try not to think about how before the years of KiKi, I would go over to Max's house with Emmy and Parker, and we would all dance and play and sing and have a grand old time and run through sprinklers and it was the best thing that could ever happen. They were the best people that could ever happen to me.
And now we're all separated because we made new friends, and now my new friends aren't talking to me either.
I'm not talking to anybody, either.
I make sure my cardigan is covering my chest, and try not to notice how confidently KiKi is walking, how maybe I walked two months ago; I'm trying not to notice her at all. But I have noticed her, and she has noticed me, and now I am pushing past a group of freshmen girls who have not gotten any less annoying over the course of the year, and I am walking out into the summer air that's still too windy.
The exit I take to narrowly avoid KiKi just so happens to lead me to the junior and senior parking lot, where I see crowds of people celebrating and talking and texting and making plans for tonight. In the midst of them, I see Emmy, or as she's now known, Emaline, sitting on top of her blue Prius with some guy that I'm pretty sure is on the lacrosse team. Emaline with long flowing blond hair, Emaline with a blindingly white smile, Emaline who won Homecoming Queen as a junior, which I don't even think is allowed, Emaline who plays soccer but somehow makes it look dainty. This is how Emaline is now, but that is not how I remember Emmy.
Things I Remember Emmy Doing Between Ages Five and Ten
And I don't mind that she dyed her hair, and I don't really mind that she spends so much money on her clothes, but I mind that she acts stupid in all her classes because I know she's smart, and I hate the fact that at Homecoming she acted like a complete ditz, because that is not who she is.
Or maybe it's time for me to accept that she's not going to be the person that she was years ago, and I should stop assuming that she would be. People change. Look at me. I'm a wreck.
Emaline does not make eye contact with me because she's too busy making out with the guy now, on top of the car, and I hurry to catch my bus.
On my way there, I tell myself to breathe normally again and I tell myself that I will make it there alright, and I tell myself that nobody is looking at me anymore, and that if Chrissy got over caring about my personal life, then everybody else has probably gotten over it, too.
But I haven't gotten over it. I mean, obviously not. Why would I? Nobody can expect me to-
And at that moment, I bump arms with Parker, who makes eye contact with me, mutters a “Sorry” and boards his bus as if he has no idea who I am, and we've never talked before in our entire lives, and I am so angry that I have literally come across every single person who was once important to me that I decide to not even ponder what happened to Parker, because I don't even want to think about it. Parker is Parker and I don't give a single shit what Parker does.
I get on my bus, which is mainly filled with underclassmen, because all the seniors and juniors are driving or getting rides from their friends, but here I am, taking public transportation because global warming is a thing, and I should acknowledge it and try to reduce my carbon footprint, or something along those lines.
I nestle myself into a seat and congratulate myself. I have made it through. I have gotten onto the bus. I dealt with Max. I saw KiKi and didn't start screaming at her. Emaline and Parker couldn't even phase me that much.
Or maybe now I'm sitting here wishing that I could go back to being ten years old, not knowing KiKi, only knowing these three amazing kids who were always there for me, but I know that I can't go back.
I close my eyes, because I am done putting effort into this day, but as soon as everything is dark and black, I remember that night in the dark, and I remember Reis's voice, and I remember hands everywhere I didn't want them to be, and I remember the most horrifying feeling flooding me and pouring out my eyes, and I remember the flash of camera phones, and suddenly my entire day gets a lot worse.
I'm constantly reminded about what people think happened, what people think of me for their misinterpreted story. But that doesn't even begin to compare to being reminded about what actually happened.
I hold back the urge to throw up, open my eyes, and press my forehead against the window, and I leave it there the whole way home.
Hey rainbowwaffles,
I was supposed to review this quite a long time ago. I'm really sorry for the belated review, hopefully you still appreciate it. So, let's go through it, shall we?
After reading the first part of the work I thought that this was going to be a self pitying kind of journal where the speaker ends up trying to convince the reader that he is a victim of the terrible things in life. This beginning was slightly monotonous however, the line:'TO ANYBODY READING THIS OVER MY SHOULDER: YOU CAN STOP ANYTIME YOU PLEASE' put a stop to this and made the reader appreciate the previous words (so don't you dare remove them 
) The speech of the teacher, makes the situation even more realistic and I like the way how you perfectly managed to use his speech as a background to the main character's thoughts and actions. It shows that you are very skilful. I also liked how Chrissy intervened your actions with a quite normal and friendly conversation. I think you are quite talented in portraying real life characters and this makes the whole story more interesting and relatable. The main character's actions are simple and casually describe that it makes every action more symbolic and effective. Good job!
I thing that the chosen point of view was very wisely done since it allowed you to make the writing personal yet still reflect how last days make people reflect more on past actions and feeling maybe even nostalgic. The speaker's last day is making him realise the changes that had occurred throughout the year not only in him but especially in others. The fact that the speaker uses other people to extract emotions from him is captivating and engaging. It is true how on the last day everyone seems to face everything and everyone...it is as if even the reader himself was not expecting the speaker to have any luck. The idea is very relatable.
Your writing techniques are really good. You managed to create distractions from your nostalgic thoughts and from your actions by using characters like Max. You developed Max's character so brilliantly that he even seems to annoy the reader that he is interrupting the rest of the story. That was a genius way of writing...I can definitely say that you deserved the price.
It is extremely rare that I do a review without writing any recommendations for improvements...I don't recall doing that actually. Well, I do so have a few recommendations for you:
1) Be careful not too make your sentences too long since it sometimes confuses the reader. You have some really long sentences with several commas. It would be better if you separate them into two or in some cases even three different sentences. This is just one of them for example:
'I leave Max standing there in his dorky-ass Vote For Pedro shirt that I told him to get rid of a good two years ago, and he's looking at me like I'm a completely lost cause, and it makes me really sick to my stomach to think that he was once the sole person I could tell anything to, and it makes me sick to my stomach to think that of everyone in the Fantabulous Four, I've now lost him also.'
This whole paragraph is just one sentence. First of all, this makes it difficult to read and secondly it looks a bit unpresentable. Read it this way:
'I leave Max standing there in his dorky-ass 'Vote For Pedro' shirt that I told him to get rid of a good two years ago. I can feel his stare piercing my back, looking at me like I'm a completely lost cause. It makes me really sick to my stomach to even think that he was once the sole person I could tell anything to. Actually, it makes me sick to my stomach to think that he ended up together with everyone else in the Fantabulous Four. I've now lost him too.'
It is nearly the same thing but with more punctuation.
2) Be careful of some spelling mistakes. There were just a few but everything counts, right? They could also be just typing mistakes but I had to give you heads up and mention them.
Well, I guess that's it. Those are my nit-picks. I really believe this was an amazing literal work....I should have started with this but well its going to come at the end......WOW
Thanks for sharing this and I hope that I'll see more of your work.....now I'm going to go and give this to my sister to read..(she's sleeping so I'll show it to her tomorrow)
Keep writing (again sorry for the belated review)
-me
I am reading the next chapters right now....I'm on chapter 4 and I can say you've done an awesome job Wow.
This was really amazing.
Not surprised it won the scholastic award thingy.
Is it published?
Cause I would love to get it. And if it's not, then it should be published.
I'm hooked.
This is very well written.
Talking about the story, I loved how you didn't directly state about the sexual assault. You held it in till the right time, and then inserted it into the fray in a very stealthy way. The girl who got sexually assaulted. People think otherwise. Best friend doesn't believe her. Old friends now all different and changed, and the narrator is kind of alone.
Can't wait for the next chapter, or if it's published, can't wait to get my hands on it 
Hassan
It was an interesting chapter!!
I like your style of writing. I love the list in the beginning and the sarcasm. It adds slightly, a dark humor to the writing.
The way that you keep the main theme, the sexual assault completely hidden from the reader and just throwing hints here and there makes it very interesting. Expecting the next chapter!!!
The way you explained Alice's frustration through the chapter reminds how I feel when I am pissed!
Good luck!
Keep writing!
Cathe
I do really like your work though. Have a few observations. Firstly the tense you are writing in can be a bit confusing at times so it would be easier to write in the past tense. Also, I feel like you didnt really elaborate on what exactly happened with the whole sexual assault thing. All I can tell is that it has something to do with the Reids character and it's the reason why she has had a fallout with her friend but I think you should explain it to us a bit more. I love the way she thinks, it's very interesting and she elaborates a lot on her friends lives. Just be careful to stay on point.
Good work. Keep it up and I'd like to see the rest
xxx
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