Dear Terrorists,

Chapter 3

Jennie pulled up her driveway and slammed the car into park. She opened her book bag and slid the notebook inside it. She noticed her garage door was closed and her mom and brother's cars were not in the driveway.

Once she got into her room, she closed the door behind her and locked it shut to ensure the privacy. She sat on her bed and pulled her heavy book bag up to join her.

Whose is this? wondered Jennie as she unzipped her bag and reached for the notebook.

Her heartbeat thrummed through her chest as she tried to gulp down her nerves.

She opened the lime green plastic flap that concealed the notebook's contents. The first page was blank. There were only the faint blue lines running horizontally across the page. She thumbed through the pages quickly in search of writing.

"Ha!" she shrieked once her eye caught a glimpse of handwriting.

"Jen!" shouted her brother's voice from downstairs.

She had been so focused on finding writing that she hadn't noticed her brother opening the front door until he shouted throughout the house.

"Jen!" he repeated even louder, or perhaps it was now closer.

Jennie heard her brother's loud steps climbing up the stairs. She closed the notebook and tucked it back into her bag, grabbing one of her textbooks out instead. She frantically opened the book to any page and began to act as if she were reading.

"Jennie!" he shouted once more, this time only feet from her door.

She heard him grab her doorknob and turn it, unsuccessfully, back and forth.

"Jennie, what are you doing?" he asked irritatingly.

"Shoot!" she mouthed with air as she leapt out of bed toward her door to unlock it.

"Sorry, I'm studying for a quiz that I have tomorrow," she lied to her brother, her face pressed up against the wood grain trim adjacent to the door.

"Of course you are," he responded with elongated sarcasm, frustrated he had to speak to his sister through the crack of a door.

He was tall and thin with short brown hair and patchy, ungroomed facial hair surrounding his chin and neck.

"What time did you get home?" he asked without allowing time for a response. "Where's mom at?"

"Joe, I don't know where she's at, probably at work," she replied with annoyance in her voice. "Why won't you just let me study and go away?"

Joe stood akimbo, his draw dropped to imitate a girl's reaction to gossiping news.

"What are you doing?" asked Jennie as she swung her door open, mortified by her brother's impatient look.

"Like, nothing, like, duh," he said with an intended lisp.

"Shut up!" shouted Jennie, charging toward her annoying brother while using her textbook as a shield, then as a dull bayonet.

"Ow!" screamed Joe as he retreated from Jennie's doorway. "Stop hitting me!"

Jennie slammed the door shut once he left enough space to do so. She locked her door and took a deep breath of relief. Finally returning to her bed, she closed her double-purpose textbook-weapon and retrieved the green diary from her book bag once again.

As before, her heart began to pound as her anticipation rose, now paired with her heavy breathes of frustration from her brother's raid. She flipped the pages to the back of the notebook, where she remembered the writing was located.

Her heart froze over and her face tingled.

Right there in front of her were the dark, secret words of David Plessy, written in his chicken-scratch handwriting:

I HATE MY LIFE. I WANT TO KILL PRINCIPAL JONES AND EVERYONE WHO EVER LAUGHED AT ME. EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER DOUBTED ME.

Jennie sat stunned in terrified awe. She did not know what to do, but still garnered the ability to turn the page.

WHICH DAY SHALL IT HAPPEN? he asked his diary.

HOW ABOUT ON MY ENEMY'S BEST DAY? ON HIS BIRTHDAY. HE WILL LEAVE THIS WORLD THE SAME DAY HE ENTERED IT he answered himself.

Jennie read on.

I NEED HELP. NO ONE OFFERS ANY, AT LEAST TO ME. I WILL SHOW THEM WHO I REALLY AM. WHAT I CAN DO, WHO THEY'VE BEEN MESSING WITH. BECAUSE THEY'VE GOT THE WRONG GUY, I'M DAVID PLESSY! he continued.

Jennie turned the page again.

BUT HOW? he asked his diary in red pen.

HOW WILL JEREMY MAYLE MEET HIS FATE? he seemed to ponder the method further.

Jennie turned the page. There was nothing. She frantically flipped the pages in search for more. But, despite her quick-shuffling efforts, David Plessy did not reveal his design for the counteroffensive.

Jennie shoved David's notebook back into her book bag, then slammed her head down onto the foot of her bed in exhaustion.