If We Hadn't Hated Him A Lot,

Don't Believe Everything You Read. It's Very Difficult To Be Accepting Of Our Own Bodies. This Topic Deserves It's Own Book, But Since I'm Not Qualified To Write It, I Won't. Instead I'll Just Say This: The Pictures Staring Out At You From The Supermarket Checkout Stands, The Images We Are All Supposed To Aspire To? They Lie

For A Genius Thief You Really Are A Stupid Girl Aren't You?

Go To Bed, Cammie,” My Aunt Ordered, Sounding Exactly Like My Mother. “no,” I Said, Sounding Exactly Like My Aunt.

But Then The Girl Moved, And Smiled, And Pulled Her Hand From The Grate- A Gorgeous Green Stone Clutched Tightly In Her Grasp. It Was Covered With Dust And Cobwebs, But It Was Uncracked And Unharmed. And, Of Course, Completely Fake.

Zach Walked Away, But I Stood There For A Long Time, Wondering If I Should Go To My Mother; If I Should Go To My Friends; But Instead I Slipped Into The Corridors I Hadn't Used In Months, Pushed My Way Through Cobwebs And Darkness, Trying To Walk Away From The Tears That Burned Hot Down My Cheeks, Because Maybe I Didn't Want To Admit Weakness; Maybe I Wanted To Wallow In My Solitude And Grief. Or Maybe Crying Is Like Everything Else We Do—it's Best If You Don't Get Caught.