hacked

journal entry #2

Riley here.

I'm writing today to report the over-dramatic and under-explained rumors that have been circling the school for the past week of so. Let's start with the biggest, and funniest, one of all. It involves Angelica (the pretty backstabber), Tammy (Angelica's best friend), and Zara (the freshman version of Angelica). Rumor has it that Tammy has been talking smack about Angelica to Zara to see if Zara would report back to Angelica. (Spoiler alert: she does report back, and even adds a little flare to the gossip.) Honestly, the fact that we've sunk to this level of betrayal is almost humorous. I mean, when I heard this rumor, I'm not gonna lie- I chuckled a bit. And poor little newbie Zara. She's been stumbling around school like a lost puppy in designer fabrics and four inch heels. Angelica and Tammy are getting a good laugh out of the whole thing, as am I.

And then of course, there's the rumor of Eliza and her imaginary friends. I've heard from a trustworthy source that she was seen talking to herself after lunch period in the locker rooms. People have stretched this accusation out so wide that she's now known as Eliza- the girl who talks to invisible people. Fact or fiction? I'm not sure, but I've always said there's something... odd about that girl.

The other rumors that are being whispered in class while the teacher's back is turned aren't of much interest, so I'll spare my notes of them.

Now moving on to my very interesting (translation: not interesting at all) life. My therapist asked if she could read my journal entries at my last session. It went a little something like this;

My therapist: So, have you been keeping a journal like I suggested?

Me: Yup.

My Therapist: Can I read your entries?

Me: Well, there's only one, so..

My Therapist: Can I read your entry, then?

Me: I forgot my notebook at home. (No one is to know that I own a laptop.)

My therapist: Maybe next week, then.

Me: Maybe. (Which basically means no; you can never read my entries.)

And that's a pretty good summary of how awkward my weekly therapy sessions are. Not that you can ask me questions, I mean you're just a computer screen, but if you could ask me questions you'd probably ask why I go to therapy. Well, because of a few angry, loud incidents that involved me shouting at someone to shut up (which, apparently, is a swear in my house), my parents are convinced that I have anger issues. They think the best solution is to send me to therapy so they don't have to think about my "anger problems". I think the best solution would be to give a proper phone and laptop, let me watch real movies, and maybe even let me go out now and then. Too much to ask? I think not. But I guess I'll have to stick to my double life until either I move out, or my parents lighten up. It's probably gonna be the former. Ah, well. I have about one hundred years worth of homework to attend to now, so I think I'll end this entry here.

Until next time,

Riley.