A Graveyard of Stars

Chapter Four

A/N: I love all the people on this website.

Literally. At one point I thought that this was where all the nice and decent people cluster. But right now, I feel like kicking someone's ass. And I'm baffled at how rude people have become.

First of all, no one is Wattpad royalty. You might be Wattpad famous and have lovely books but you are not Wattpad royalty. Just because you have a lot of reads and votes doesn't mean you deserve special treatment and/or can treat people like shit. Like they don't matter. It just means you're a decent writer.

Secondly, if you don't want to take reading requests, it would be a smart idea to make it the first sentence of your bio or something. If you seriously hate them that much. Don't put it at the end. Don't expect everyone to sit there a read your mile long bio, because guess what? You're not Wattpad royalty. So when people end up asking you to read their book because they didn't take time out of their day to check and make sure you would be OK with it first, don't be fucking flabbergasted and bitch about it.

I understand if you don't have time. I understand COMPLETELY. But I can't stand those people who get all "I clearly stated I don't take reading requests. I suggest you read people's profiles before asking them to read your book."

Direct quotes, by the way.

What those people don't understand is that the people asking for support on their book are probably brand new writers. And you most likely discouraged them a little by being rude.

I'm sorry that this is so long. But it does contribute to this next chapter. I know not everyone is like this. Wattpad is still full of nice and decent people. The world is still full of nice and decent people.

That's why I'm dedicating this chapter to the authors who were kind enough to tell me they simply didn't have time.

I'm dedicating this chapter to those who decide to be more kind then they have to be. To those who are brave enough to be kind.

-G

--

Principle Wallace's office always looks exactly the same. The two cushioned chairs sit in front of the desk where several sheets of paper lay messily. The two picture frames, one with a photo of the Principles sister, the other of her husband, face away from me. There is always a book or two laying out of place on bookshelf to the left. The phone seems to always be ringing when I walk in and there is usually a strong aroma of chamomile from the steaming mug of the edge of the desk.

I drum out my favorite classic rock hits on the arm rests as I wait for my executioner herself to give me my sentence.

Principle Wallace walks in when I'm on the second verse of Carry on Wayward Son. Her heeled boots thump the carpet as she strolls across the room, picks the ringing phone up before clicking it back down on the receiver to silence it. She sits and scoots in behind her desk.

"Danielle, you can't inflict pain on everyone you have a problem with," she informs me, skipping the greeting and getting straight to the point.

I point my finger in the air at nothing in particular. "Judy, I can guarantee that I'm not the only one who wishes to inflicted pain on Mr. Owens."

The principal shakes her head. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me Judy."

After a pause, I reluctantly nod.

She straightens her back. "With that aside, you've been in my office several times this year. Most visits due to fighting or arguing with other students or, occasionally, teachers. I've mention this before and I'll mention it again, an anger management class is not out of the questi-"