This is stupid, I thought. I shut my diary and placed it at the bottom
of my desk drawer. Why am I writing my
thoughts down here? This is something
that you do when you’re little. I mean,
it’s great Mom and Dad gave it to me when I was five, but I’m not sure how it’s
going to help me sort through how I feel now.
But Mom sent me to my room, so here I sit.
This sucks, I thought, as I leaned my elbows
against my desk and pressed my palms against my forehead. I hate being the odd girl out. Emerys and Cat are super close and our
mother’s a lot like both of them. Why do
I have to be the odd sister out? Nobody
seems to understand me? They all claim
I’m rebellious because I’m a teenager, as if I haven’t learned how to control my
emotions by now. After all, I’ve been a
teenager for twenty years.
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