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Authors: Liane Shaw
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smaller than the year before and I was a little more willing to show it off. Obviously, thinner was cooler, if Suzanne was any judge. Actually, in my mind, Suzanne was judge, jury, and the guy who drew the pictures in court. So, it was all I could do not to perform a happy dance when she followed the compliment up with an actual invitation to one of her cool crowd parties. A party that was going to have all of the beautiful people at it. A party that was going to have the gorgeous and wonderful Jesse Grayson at it.
Iâd like to think that I was suave and smooth and answered with some sort of witty response that would make her think that I was a good choice to join her entourage of minions. I donât actually remember what I said, but I am pretty sure I stammered and stuttered and probably drooled. Always so very cool.
April 10
I saw that guy again. I mean, I saw Wolf again. Or Pieter or whoever he is. He just kind of walked by my room and sort of looked in my direction. I think I opened my mouth to say something brilliant but he was gone by the time my brain realized that my mouth was trying to speak. Maybe they have therapy for girls who canât talk to boys. I should check it out. I could just spend my whole day floating from one therapist to the other until my mind is completely out of my control.
Am I still technically a girl or am I officially a woman now? I canât drink legally until Iâm nineteen but Iâve been able to drive since I was sixteen. I canât vote until next year.
Why is it that the government thinks that a sixteen-year-old can operate a two-ton piece of fast-moving machinery but they canât walk into a little portable closet and put a checkmark in a box?
Anyway, I am probably not an adult yet as far as anyone official cares. How old do I have to be to check myself out of here? I bet none of these guard dogs around here would tell me if I asked them. My parents sure wouldnât tell me. Maybe that guy would know. Of course, to find out, I would have to be able to actually put enough words together to ask him. I bet Marina never has trouble figuring out what to say to guys ⦠or anyone else for that matter. I wonder how someone like her ended up in a place like this? Does she have friends somewhere who are missing her? She seems like the kind of person who would have friends.
Of all of the things I hate about this place, the thing I hate the most is that I donât have the Internet. I have a laptop because they think that I need to write and they donât want me to have a pencil or a pen in case I decide to off myself with it â that would just be gross by the way â but they have decided that the World Wide Web is some sort of evil network designed to negatively influence impressionable people like me. That isnât exactly how they put it, but itâs close enough. They have no idea how much I miss the Internet. I would feel a whole lot saner if I had it here.
Did I mention that this joint is called âLiving for Lifeâ? Can you think of a dorkier name on the face of the planet? It sounds like some sort of whacked-out religious cult thatâs going to launder my brain with their bull until itâs squeakyclean. More evidence that this
is
a cult. Maybe some door-to-door salesman showed up at my parentsâ house and sold them a yearâs subscription to hell on earth.
How can they take away all of my rights and freedoms and then try to tell me how to live for life? I donât have any life at the moment. No phone, no TV, no Internet, no friends, no nothing!
No friends. How pathetic is that. Maybe they can add that to the list of things wrong with me and make me have extra therapy sessions to discuss my lack of social skills and apparent inability to communicate effectively with my peers. Gag me.
Actually, I do have friends. Real, true friends who care about me and accept me just the way I am and arenât trying to change me
Iâd like to think that I was suave and smooth and answered with some sort of witty response that would make her think that I was a good choice to join her entourage of minions. I donât actually remember what I said, but I am pretty sure I stammered and stuttered and probably drooled. Always so very cool.
April 10
I saw that guy again. I mean, I saw Wolf again. Or Pieter or whoever he is. He just kind of walked by my room and sort of looked in my direction. I think I opened my mouth to say something brilliant but he was gone by the time my brain realized that my mouth was trying to speak. Maybe they have therapy for girls who canât talk to boys. I should check it out. I could just spend my whole day floating from one therapist to the other until my mind is completely out of my control.
Am I still technically a girl or am I officially a woman now? I canât drink legally until Iâm nineteen but Iâve been able to drive since I was sixteen. I canât vote until next year.
Why is it that the government thinks that a sixteen-year-old can operate a two-ton piece of fast-moving machinery but they canât walk into a little portable closet and put a checkmark in a box?
Anyway, I am probably not an adult yet as far as anyone official cares. How old do I have to be to check myself out of here? I bet none of these guard dogs around here would tell me if I asked them. My parents sure wouldnât tell me. Maybe that guy would know. Of course, to find out, I would have to be able to actually put enough words together to ask him. I bet Marina never has trouble figuring out what to say to guys ⦠or anyone else for that matter. I wonder how someone like her ended up in a place like this? Does she have friends somewhere who are missing her? She seems like the kind of person who would have friends.
Of all of the things I hate about this place, the thing I hate the most is that I donât have the Internet. I have a laptop because they think that I need to write and they donât want me to have a pencil or a pen in case I decide to off myself with it â that would just be gross by the way â but they have decided that the World Wide Web is some sort of evil network designed to negatively influence impressionable people like me. That isnât exactly how they put it, but itâs close enough. They have no idea how much I miss the Internet. I would feel a whole lot saner if I had it here.
Did I mention that this joint is called âLiving for Lifeâ? Can you think of a dorkier name on the face of the planet? It sounds like some sort of whacked-out religious cult thatâs going to launder my brain with their bull until itâs squeakyclean. More evidence that this
is
a cult. Maybe some door-to-door salesman showed up at my parentsâ house and sold them a yearâs subscription to hell on earth.
How can they take away all of my rights and freedoms and then try to tell me how to live for life? I donât have any life at the moment. No phone, no TV, no Internet, no friends, no nothing!
No friends. How pathetic is that. Maybe they can add that to the list of things wrong with me and make me have extra therapy sessions to discuss my lack of social skills and apparent inability to communicate effectively with my peers. Gag me.
Actually, I do have friends. Real, true friends who care about me and accept me just the way I am and arenât trying to change me
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