Mischievous Function

Reap What You Sow

Meanwhile, in another hotel room...

Dear Diary,

Day 4 of our exciting snow trip. After breakfast today, I practiced my lines for the competition Friday. I just kinda—okay, I don't know, I just really love how my lines sound! Like, I'm still trying to figure out the meaning behind the lyrics, but the words themselves just feel so satisfying to say!

I do feel a little bad for Dot, though. She's got the line after me. I tried singing her lines and I got tongue-twisted. Then again, she doesn't seem all that inexperienced, so maybe she'll have better luck. Oh, speaking of Dot, I found out at practice today why she calls herself that. Apparently, she's always on time for work—"on the dot," you could say. I wonder what she does and what her legal name is, though. It seems to me that maybe she keeps them secret on purpose. Or maybe I'm just overthinking this.

Of course, they all found out that my native accent comes out when I sing. You know, it's funny, actually; you wouldn't think I sound like that just from how I talk. Like, I've been around normal Yoylish people enough to talk in a general Yoylish accent, but when I sing, it's—I don't know, it's like my voice just forgets all of that and goes back to the accent that I guess I was born with. But Mic and Suitcase said it was okay, and that it actually sounds really, really good. They might be a bit biased, though, since Mic likes to sing with the same accent and Suitcase just kinda always talks with it. Speaking of Suitcase, apparently she's kinda like the opposite of me: somehow, she just naturally kinda drops her accent when she sings. I think that's pretty interesting.

And then, as usual, there's *him*. Somehow, I still think he's completely oblivious to how I feel about him. Still, though...this does suck. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Every time I try to talk with him or spend time with him, I get carried away, but then immediately get shot down. Whether it's by her, by him, by someone else, by the friggin' universe, whatever—I just never get my chance. I don't know. Maybe it's the "great writer in the sky" telling me that it just isn't meant to be or something. And yet I can't stop myself from trying to get him to love me. My whole life, all I ever did was try. But I can't give up, either. That's the paradox; you see? Anyway, as for *her*, she's still keeping it a secret. I'm forever grateful to her for still supporting me through this even after all I did to her.

Which reminds me: I think I'm about to get moved again. My whole juvie mess shook my current couple both so much that they almost got fired, though they managed to quit in the nick of time. We've been living on savings for the past few months and they've been looking for new jobs, but we're about to go in the red and they've been getting more and more pissed at me by the week. Doesn't help that I don't have a job, either. Haven't hit me yet, but I'm guessing that's about to change soon. And just when I was starting to love life, too. The prize may be just a bunch of free food, but maybe there's going to be some money in it, too—and, heck, maybe they'll even keep me for it. In any case, I hope I can at least get my stuff packed when I get back home.

Anyway, today I had a conversation with Golf Ball about why, despite the fact that I'm 16 (I think), I still haven't had my first—

"Hello?"

Knock-knock-knock.

Needle let out a sharp yelp and quickly slammed her journal shut, whirling around to peek over her shoulder instinctively despite the door to the room being to her right. "AH—wh-what—huh?" she asked, her eyes wildly darting around the room. Basketball was splayed out across her bed under the sheets, already passed out asleep and snoring, and Golf Ball was curled up with her back to her next to her with an unusually content smile.

"Golf Ball? Needle?" Pin asked from outside the room, knocking on the door twice more.

"Uh...y-yeah, what is it, Pin?" Needle called back, quickly tossing her journal and pen into her suitcase before piling some dirty clothes on top of it.