she thought about the journal tucked securely inside her messenger bag, the more her desire grew to open it. Just once. Read one sentence and that’s it. Cover closed. No more. Not another glance. If she could just get a taste of that one sentence, move it around in her mouth, get a feel for its texture, she could satiate her hunger. Just a bit of knowledge would do. One bite. What’s the harm in one bite?
***
There was nothing ethical about what she planned to do. The fact that she hid in the far corner bathroom stall was proof enough. She hated herself for it, but at the same time, she couldn’t hand the notebook over without getting a glimpse into his thoughts. It may be the only opportunity she’d have to know something about him. And she needed only a little . . . Oh, who was she kidding? She planned to read the whole damn thing.
She pulled a seat protector out of the dispenser on the back wall, lined the toilet, and got comfortable.
“I’m a wretched person,” she said aloud, hoping the confession would ease her conscience some. It didn’t.
She stared at the red cover—worn at the edges with the layers of thin cardstock peeling apart to mirror little paper fans. The color was faded near the middle where he wrote something but then erased it. Maybe he labeled his journal and then decided that was stupid. She pulled the notebook closer to her face, squinting her eyes in concentration. “My thoughts,” it had read, and she smiled at its simplicity.
“I really shouldn’t do it,” she whispered at the exact moment she opened the book.
Black pen. Crude cursive. No salutation, but there was a date. He was about to take her back in time to ninth grade. And she wouldn’t like any of it.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to introduce myself since this is my first entry. Seems weird, but whatever. My name is Jeremy. Most people call me Jer, which is fine. I don’t have a preference either way.
Regan grinned.
Anyway, like I said, this is my first entry, so I’m also not sure if I’m supposed to write to anyone in particular—real or imaginary. I had this friend in first grade. His name was Kevin. He was nice. If I wrote to anyone, I guess it’d be him. But I don’t plan to ever share these thoughts with Kevin. Or anyone, for that matter.
Her heart dropped—weighted by voyeuristic guilt—and she slammed the cover closed. The fifth period bell rang, and she held her breath, waiting for the halls to stop screaming.
Everything went quiet, and she dropped her eyes to the notebook once more.
“Pretend I’m not anyone,” she said. “You don’t know I exist anyway.”
She reopened the book and continued reading.
I would probably keep a virtual journal if I had a computer. I type faster than I can write, but too bad. I’m one of those poor kids who has to visit the library or stay after school if he has to type assignments. It’s so freaking lame. I’ve only asked my dad a trillion times for a laptop, and he tells me to buy it myself. I’m glad Roy hired me. I’m saving everything for a laptop first. Wait, no no. Not a laptop. A kickass snowboard. Then the laptop.
Regan laughed. “Priorities.”
So there’s my introduction. Not much, but I really don’t want to talk about myself anymore. At least not right now. I wanna talk about this girl in my class. That’s really why I started the journal today. I mean, not for her exclusively, but I saw her today, and it got me thinking. I don’t want to forget these thoughts, so here they are.
Regan read feverishly. All it took was the word “girl” to pick up her pace.
Regan Walters has been in my class since second grade.
Her heart beat out a frantic rhythm.
She’s a cool chick. Well, I mean she was.
“What the hell?” Regan mouthed.
She used to do her own thing. She was crazy, actually. She dressed all weird and was really pushy and opinionated, and I think I’m making her out to sound not so likeable.
“Uh, yeah.”
But she was
***
There was nothing ethical about what she planned to do. The fact that she hid in the far corner bathroom stall was proof enough. She hated herself for it, but at the same time, she couldn’t hand the notebook over without getting a glimpse into his thoughts. It may be the only opportunity she’d have to know something about him. And she needed only a little . . . Oh, who was she kidding? She planned to read the whole damn thing.
She pulled a seat protector out of the dispenser on the back wall, lined the toilet, and got comfortable.
“I’m a wretched person,” she said aloud, hoping the confession would ease her conscience some. It didn’t.
She stared at the red cover—worn at the edges with the layers of thin cardstock peeling apart to mirror little paper fans. The color was faded near the middle where he wrote something but then erased it. Maybe he labeled his journal and then decided that was stupid. She pulled the notebook closer to her face, squinting her eyes in concentration. “My thoughts,” it had read, and she smiled at its simplicity.
“I really shouldn’t do it,” she whispered at the exact moment she opened the book.
Black pen. Crude cursive. No salutation, but there was a date. He was about to take her back in time to ninth grade. And she wouldn’t like any of it.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to introduce myself since this is my first entry. Seems weird, but whatever. My name is Jeremy. Most people call me Jer, which is fine. I don’t have a preference either way.
Regan grinned.
Anyway, like I said, this is my first entry, so I’m also not sure if I’m supposed to write to anyone in particular—real or imaginary. I had this friend in first grade. His name was Kevin. He was nice. If I wrote to anyone, I guess it’d be him. But I don’t plan to ever share these thoughts with Kevin. Or anyone, for that matter.
Her heart dropped—weighted by voyeuristic guilt—and she slammed the cover closed. The fifth period bell rang, and she held her breath, waiting for the halls to stop screaming.
Everything went quiet, and she dropped her eyes to the notebook once more.
“Pretend I’m not anyone,” she said. “You don’t know I exist anyway.”
She reopened the book and continued reading.
I would probably keep a virtual journal if I had a computer. I type faster than I can write, but too bad. I’m one of those poor kids who has to visit the library or stay after school if he has to type assignments. It’s so freaking lame. I’ve only asked my dad a trillion times for a laptop, and he tells me to buy it myself. I’m glad Roy hired me. I’m saving everything for a laptop first. Wait, no no. Not a laptop. A kickass snowboard. Then the laptop.
Regan laughed. “Priorities.”
So there’s my introduction. Not much, but I really don’t want to talk about myself anymore. At least not right now. I wanna talk about this girl in my class. That’s really why I started the journal today. I mean, not for her exclusively, but I saw her today, and it got me thinking. I don’t want to forget these thoughts, so here they are.
Regan read feverishly. All it took was the word “girl” to pick up her pace.
Regan Walters has been in my class since second grade.
Her heart beat out a frantic rhythm.
She’s a cool chick. Well, I mean she was.
“What the hell?” Regan mouthed.
She used to do her own thing. She was crazy, actually. She dressed all weird and was really pushy and opinionated, and I think I’m making her out to sound not so likeable.
“Uh, yeah.”
But she was
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