Dear Journal,

I have two things I'd like to talk about right now.

The first involves a lot of details and things that you could only learn through time. I've had this friend for over nine years, and her dad is a prick. Today he disappeared for hours, because he "went to the movies" with my friend's younger brother. Anyways, the point is he took my friend's car. [Let's just call my friend J to make it easier. Her dad will just be P for prick.]

Anyways, he took her car. And he was gone, and we were hungry. We were going to go into town and J and I were going to use all of our money to buy pizza and ice cream and batteries (for J's camera). But, without a vehicle, that's impossible.

So we went through this whole thing where we tried to get a vehicle, but to no avail. So P asks J what she wants to eat so he can pick it up and bring it home, and J happens to use the word "we", and P says, "I don't care what you two want, I care about what you want." Or something like that. 

Which makes me wonder about the value of hospitality and guests. Are guests so unimportant nowadays that what we want doesn't even come into the equation? Or is it just him being a prick? Because I can remember a long time ago, back when me and J first became friends, when he was talking and he said straight to his daughter's face that he cares more about the guests in his home than her. I remember that, and it pissed me off then. But does that mean I want to be treated as if I don't have needs and wants? No. I don't want to affect everyone's decisions, such as the decision about what to eat for dinner. In fact, I prefer not to have any special treatment. But some consideration would be nice. When J goes to my house, my parents feed her. My parents take into account what she wants. And my parents don't disappear for hours with the lie that they're "going to the movies" when there are no seven-hour movies in the theaters. 

So, in retrospect, I am kind of pissed right now. And you know what I did? I dumped out the coke I was drinking, because I wouldn't want to intrude on their cold beverage supply, and I left a ten on the counter for my half of the pizza and breadsticks we ordered for him to pick up (and I'm seriously debating taking exactly 2.5 breadsticks and half the medium pizza and bringing it home with me, simply because I paid) and went into J's room to get out of the way. J thinks I'm going about this the wrong way, and that I should just take advantage of the fact that he would have bought us basically anything we want, but I'm not like that. 

I grew up to have some respect for the guests in my home. And when I'm a guest in someone elses, I kind of expect some sort of respect back. But... I don't know. Am I expecting too much?

Now that I've completely ranted the page up, my second thought was this: While I was on vacation, my grandma gave me an idea. She said I should start a school paper.

Our school doesn't have a paper. And I'm a writer, and I'm a computer nerd, and I need something different to keep me occupied. So... why not? I could try it.

So if anyone happens to read this blog, and if any of you readers know anything about school papers, whether you read them or write for them, any advice or suggestions for getting started would be greatly appreciated.

lotsa love,
Chelsie

Dear Journal,

Well, I haven't written in awhile, but that's because I can't get on the computer a lot at Dad's, cuz Carol does her eBay and everything.

And either way, there's not really anything interesting to say. Except I really like this color purple... it's very unique and cute. Although it looked more interesting in the little box thing than it does on the text. But that's okay.

Well, Sam and I actually talked this weekend. I haven't talked to him in such a long time, and to be honest it's kind of refreshing, even though things will go back to how they were tomorrow. And we probably won't talk at all. Except maybe a little at lunch. 

But that's it. I don't have him first hour anymore. I don't have him seventh hour anymore. I just... don't have him at all. It sucks.

And right now I'm really feeling like a major bitch. But I'm going to resist the urge to be bitchy... Ahh.

~Chelsie~

"Oh no, should I be worried?" Deb asks. She’s eating something that looks suspiciously like a chocolate chip cookie. Judging by the smell wafting out from the kitchen, that’s exactly what it is... and I forget all about my aforementioned gifts so that I can sneak into the kitchen and get my hands on one of those cookies.

"The only thing you should be worried about," I start, getting reluctantly out of my recliner and peering into the kitchen. I spot the pan of delicious, warm, tasty cookies on the counter and run over to grab one before Deb can object.

My mouth full of wonderfulness, I turn back to Deb, remembering suddenly that I had something to say to her.

"Oh, yes. No, you shouldn’t be worried. You should actually be quite pleased with me for being your best friend," I say with a mysterious and secretive smile.

"What did you do?" Deb asks, sounding slightly alarmed. Admittedly, I am a little surprised at her outburst... I’d expected her to be excited or at the very least curious. Not outright terrified.

"Well, I guess if you don’t want to borrow this brand new, advanced readers copy of the new Sarah Dessen book..." I say, deliberately holding up the book I’d gotten in the mail moments before running straight to Deb’s house to share the news.

"No way!" she screeches, her arms already outstretched to snatch the precious book from my fingers.

"Oh no, hold on a second. This is my book. Which means that I get to read it first. And, as you are a mere best friend, you get to read it second. Sound fair?"

She groans, but nods nonetheless. This book that I hold in my hands doesn’t get released for months... so her only two options are waiting for me to read it and then borrowing it, or waiting for it to be released and then buying her own copy.

There is no contest. Borrowing it from me is the only way she’ll ever be able to survive the next couple months. And I know it.

"Okay, good," I say, and settle into My Recliner once again. "So I figure, now that I’m here, how about I stay here. I can eat all of your food and we can watch old movies. Whatya say?"

She looks apprehensive. "I don’t know about that. Catherine is supposed to come over around noon to hang out."

I raise my left eyebrow. "What time is it now?"

Deb checks her watch. "12:14."

I gasp, clutching my new book tight to my chest. "No! No! No! I have to get this home now, before Catherine..."

I hear a knock on the door and then the sound of the knob being turned, and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Not good... I couldn’t let Catherine get anywhere near Sarah Dessen’s masterpiece...

"Hey ladies," Catherine says as she comes into the room. I watch her dainty figure glide across the floor like an ice skater and I try to forget the fact that, compared to Catherine, I have the social status of a tree. "Ann, I didn’t know you were going to be here. Are you going to bake cookies with us?"

My smile is oozing fake politeness as I reply sweetly, "No, actually, I plan on sitting here in this wonderful recliner and eating the cookies that you bake."

Catherine has the guts to smile back, hers just as fake as mine. "Well, I don’t know about that. We’re baking them for my mother’s Home and Garden party tomorrow. Surely you’ve heard of a Home and Garden party? They’re fabulous."

Actually, I know exactly what a Home and Garden party is, as my own mother has hosted several over the course of my life, and the only thing that I’ve noticed about them is that people sit around staring at plate designs and smelling candles.

Woo, sounds exciting. Not.

"Well," I say, ignoring Catherine to the best of my ability. I had a feeling that I was being tested to see how well I could keep my cool with Catherine within reaching distance of my brand new book. "I think that I should go, seeing as how you two are going to be so busy baking delicious cookies and won’t even notice that I’m not here..."

"What’s that you’ve got there?" Catherine cuts me off. She’s finally spotted the book that I’m holding so tightly, I fear that my fingers will be unable to function properly in the future.

"Oh, nothing," I say quickly, hurriedly trying to put the book back in my bag. I’m fumbling too much with it, however, and I drop the book onto the hardwood floor, exposing the cover to a very curious Catherine.

"Wow, is that an advanced readers copy?" she asks, already salivating at the sight of it.

I shoot a desperate glance at Deb, who looks equally horrified. Next to me, Catherine is the most obsessive and stalkerish Sarah Dessen fan. And I know for a fact that she has been trying to get her hands on an ARC of the book for months. The very same book that is now cover-up on the floor inbetween us.

I know what’s going to happen mere seconds before it does; which is exactly why I do what I do next. I leap.

I land on the book moments before Catherine lands on me, and I smile in triumph.

My triumph is short-lived, however, because in the next second I can feel Catherine yanking desperately at my hair. I let out a strangled noise, but continue to protect the book with all the strength in me. I won’t let myself release my grip on it. Maybe she could pry my fingers from the book when I’m laying dead in a heap on the floor.

But even then, it’d take the strength of a thousand men. Plus some.

She realizes that this struggle won’t get her anywhere, so she releases me and stands up, brushing the nonexistent dust from her perfect ensemble of all the hot designer clothes.

But this isn’t the time to ponder Catherine’s shopping habits. I needed to protect my book, and save it from Catherine’s greedy hands.

"Give me the book," she says through gritted teeth, trying and failing to remain calm. I can see the anger and determination in her eyes, and I’m almost threatened by the sight. Almost. But my willpower to protect the book overrule the fright, and I find myself standing tall.

"No. It’s mine," I say, sounding a bit more condescending than I intend. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters at this moment except keeping the book away from her.

"Give. Me. The. Book," she repeats, firmer this time.

I shake my head, clutching tighter.

Catherine looks around the room, searching for a way to get the book away from me. "Give me the book," she says again, and picks up Pinky from the floor next to My Recliner. "Or the pig is mine."

Deb (who had been standing idly by throughout our little confrontation) and I both gasp in horror at this suggestion. "No!"

Catherine smiles wickedly, pleased at finding our one and only weakness. "Well, well, well. It appears that you have a choice to make. The book, or the doll."

I look at Deb, who’s staring at Pinky. I can just see her trying to keep from crying, but I know that if Catherine has Pinky in her possession for much longer we’ll have to deal with the floodgates opening, on top of everything else.

The choice is impossible to make, but I have to make it. I could choose between my brand new, hardcover, unpublished copy of Sarah Dessen’s most recent novel. If I choose this, I will be the envy of every teenage girl around the country. Except, of course, for those who, like myself, managed to score an ARC. But if I choose to keep the book, I will be sacrificing Pinky.

Pinky, while meaning next to nothing to me, is Deb’s single most precious possession. He was her best friend growing up, and continues to be her best stuffed friend, and that’s only because I refuse to be her friend if she ranks a stuffed pig higher than me on the Best Friends scale. So, while I come first, Pinky is a very close second.

I know that I can’t give up a best friend for a book, so I take a deep breath and hand Evil Catherine the book that hasn’t even been mine for a full hour. She grabs it hastily, as if she thinks that I might change my mind (and I must admit, the temptation to pull the book back, stick my tongue out, and scream, "Psych!", is strong, but I resist for Pinky’s sake) and tosses Pinky carelessly to the side.

While Deb rushes over to where Pinky was haphazardly thrown, I glare at Catherine. "You will regret this," I tell her, raising my finger and pointing menacingly at her. "Mark my words. I will have revenge."

She grins, cradling the book in her arms like a frail child. "I doubt that," she says innocently, before blowing us a kiss and disappearing through the front door.

~~~

"I’m at the Witches’ window. Repeat, I’m at the Witches’ window. Over."

I stick Deb’s walkie talkie back into my pocket and peer into the bedroom window, watching said Witch turn a page in the book that was rightfully mine.

It has taken us less than twenty minutes to devise a plan to get the book back. The whole time, Deb holds Pinky so tight that, if he weren’t made with fluff, I would worry for the safety of the poor animal’s neck. However, I can’t blame her. I’m sure that if my second-best friend had been held hostage, I’d be kind of shaken up too.

Watching the Witch, also known as Catherine to the general population, I wait for the signal. It has to be the right moment for me to enter, otherwise I’ll blow the whole operation and ruin any chance of getting my hands on that book.

Sure enough, just as planned, I watch the Witch look up from the book, and then get up off her bed and leave the room. I know that she is heading down the hallway to the front door, where Deb has come to apologize for my rude behavior and to bake some cookies, like they’d planned to.

Only I know that Deb has no intention of baking cookies and has absolutely no desire to spend more time than necessary inside the Witches’ house. She’s going to be inside long enough for me to sneak into Catherine’s bedroom, get my book back, and then we both plan on getting out of there before she discovers it’s missing.

The plan’s simple, really. It’s actually pretty easy to fool someone as dim-witted as Catherine. The only complication that could come would be if Catherine decides to come back to her bedroom for something while I’m still retrieving the book. Or if she decides to take it with her to answer the door.

Thankfully, neither of these things occur. In fact, the whole operation is pretty smooth-sailing. The window opens easily, and as soon as I’m in the room I can hear Deb and Catherine making small talk down the hall. I decide not to eavesdrop on their conversation and grab the book off of her bed.

As I’m about to climb back out the window, however, I spot something else on her bed that causes me to pause. On a whim, I get back in and grab it, sticking it under my arm as I climb back out the window and into the cold.

~~~

The next day, I am sitting on My Recliner at Deb’s house, and Deb is in her recliner. The platter of cookies sits on the table between us, and I can hear a new romantic comedy playing on the television.

But I don’t notice anything but the book that’s nestled in my lap, already turned to page 431.

As I turn the page, my lips curve upward in a smile.

I sigh as I close the book. Somehow I know that even if it had ended different, it still would have been the perfect ending. I slide it over towards Deb, and she takes it anxiously, already forgetting about the movie that she’d put in and flipping it to the first page.

I smile even wider at the sight of a new pink unicorn cuddled up next to Pinky on Deb’s left side. I wonder if the Witch noticed it was missing. "I’d say that it’s the best Sarah Dessen book yet."