I just thought of a great theory that explains everything. When I went to that party, I was abducted by aliens. They have created a fake Earth and fake high school to study me and my reactions. This certainly explains cafeteria food.
I can’t do everything for you. You must walk alone to find your soul.
The one good thing about being kind of shy is that nobody bugs you when you want to be left alone.
This camp is a forge for the army; it’s testing our mettle. Instead of heat and hammer, our trials are cold and hunger. Question is, what are we made of?
No. Absolutely not. I forbid it. You’ll have nightmares.”
“She was my friend! You must allow me. Why are you so horrid?”
As soon as the angry words were out of my mouth, I knew I had gone too far.
“Matilda!” Mother rose from her chair. “You are forbidden to pseak to me in that tone! Apologize at once.
Dead girl walking
We were secret sisters with a plan for world domination, potential bubbling around us like champagne.
If I weren’t so tired, I’d shove trust and issue down the garbage disposal and let it run all day.
I’m angry that I starved my brain and that I sat shivering in my bed at night instead of dancing or reading poetry or eating icecream or kissing a boy or maybe a girl…
You were born with the seeds of your talent, the ability to observe the world around you and weave piece of it into a story. I believe that most-if not all-people are born with these seeds. What separates the writers from the non-writers is that the writers actually sit down and, you know… write.