The Nerd Girl

Chapter Three

> for mila, bc she's amazing, and she's my literal wattpad queen. she also made the gorgeous banner on the side (which is also the new cover for the book, btw). if you haven't read her writing yet, you'd better get to it.

> "Suicide. A sideways word, a word that people whisper and mutter and cough; a word that must be squeezed out behind cupped palms or murmured behind closed doors." - Lena Haloway, Delirium

T H R E E

- Amara -

Dillon Hastings: You're such a loser. I don't know how Danny can even stand to be around you. You ought to just kill yourself, make the world a better place. You won't be missed.

Eighteen comments. Thirty-seven likes.

Shaken by the obviously positive responses of people to Dillon's message to me, I nervously click to the comments, a knot forming in my stomach; nothing good is to be found here, but I can't help being curious enough to see what they're saying. And sure enough, when the list of comments filters onto my computer screen, the waterfall of tears that is already covering my cheeks intensifies.

Most of the people who have commented on her post aren't friends of mine. They're the people who cheer Dillon on when she picks on me at school; the ones who laugh whenever I trip or stumble, and call me a klutz; the same students who have been tormenting me since I was a kid.

Too overwhelmed with the hateful words, I go back to the main page, still staring at the post Dillon made. And when my eyes land on the line just below it, the realization of how much of an outcast I am hits me with the force of a wrecking ball. Although I'd seen it before, this time, it truly sinks in; thirty-seven likes.

That means there are thirty-seven people out there who agree with Dillon Hastings. There are thirty-seven individuals who think I should do what Dillon told me to, that I should take her advice and end my pathetic existence.

Fine.

I pull out my cell phone and scroll through the minimal contacts until I find Danny's name and number. Fuelled by my anger and resignation, I type a message to him, explaining everything. I want Danny to know that he means the world to me, and that what I'm about to do is not his fault in the least. Because I know my best friend, and I know that if I don't tell him my reasoning, he'll blame everything on himself—then again, this is Daniel Birmingham we're talking about; he'll probably carry all the blame anyway, just because he won't be able to stop me.

When I'm finished with my long-winded message, I toss my phone onto my bed. Under my breath, I mutter both an apology and a goodbye to everything, to everyone; Danny, Sam, Jess, Dixon, my mother.

Straightening up, I fling my hair out of my face. Wordlessly, I cross to the bathroom that's connected to my room, my eyes filling with tears when the actuality of what I'm planning to do smashes against me again. The crimson walls, the color that seemed so cheerful when I'd decorated the bathroom with it, look like warning sirens now. They seem to blare at me to think once more, to be logical.

But it's too little, too late.

I reach under the sink, sifting through the cupboards for something specific. I push aside the extra soaps and shampoos, trying to find the one item I'll need. I flick aside the useless things; hair ties, contact lenses, toothbrushes, until my fingers close around what I've been searching for. I hold it up to the light, a slight, cryptic smile crossing my features when the light glints off of it.

A razor blade.

- Danny -

I veer my older brother's car around the corner, just barely avoiding the curb. But that doesn't matter to me at this point. There's only one thing on my mind; Amara.