“He only invited me because of you and Chase.’
‘Right,’ she said, following me inside. ‘He’s never shown the slightest interest in you before. I mean, he’s never stared at you like you’re the only person in the room when we’re all together. Or sulked around for days because you turned him down for a dance. Or touched the sleeve of your sweater when he thinks no one’s looking-‘
‘He’s never done any of that,’ I said. Then, less confidently, ‘Has he?”
Sometimes it seems like all I ever do is lie.
My mom thinks I’m repressing my feelings about this. I say to her, ‘No, Mom, I’m not. I think it’s really neat. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.’
Mom says, ‘I don’t think you’re being honest with me.’
Then she hands me this book. She tells me she wants me to write down my feelings in this book, since, she says, I obviously don’t feel I can talk about them with her.
She wants me to write down my feelings? OK, I’ll write down my feelings:
I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE’S DOING THIS TO ME!