At first I’m just staring at the ceiling of my room trying to make heads or tails out of the static that’s swirling around in my mind. I tiptoe out into the kitchen to find a notebook and a pen. Once I do I begin to write. I write everything I’m stressed about. I write about being scared of going back to school, about how I still haven’t talked to Angelina, about how scared I am to have to tell her what my life has been like without her. I write about the stress of having to figure out what to do about Stephanie still having my journal, and about how I’m scared she’s going to show Mrs. Newington at any time. I write about how I miss Eric, how I wish he was here with me. I write about how I’m scared something awful is going to happen with me and my aunt, how I’m scared somehow my only hope at freedom is going to get messed up, about how my dad and Missy don’t seem to care how long I’m gone for, or that maybe they made the wrong decision by sending me away to begin with.
