March 30, 1998

Today before homeroom, I was at my locker getting my books. The hall was almost empty. All of a sudden, I heard Steph’s voice say, “Emily.” I stood up and turned around, so I was facing her.

She had a smart look on her face and her hands on her hips. She said, “I heard you were at my house yesterday.” I just looked at her. I didn’t know what to say.

Suddenly, her face turned angry and she pushed me into the lockers, hard. She said, “Don’t mess with me!” I just stood there, stunned, unable to really think about what had just happened. By the time I realized I should probably push her back, she was already down the hall.

I ate lunch alone in Ms. Walsh’s room. I felt sick. I so badly want to move to another town, another state, another country.

On March 24, there was a shooting in Arkansas. Two boys pulled the fire alarm in their school, and when all the kids were outside, they shot and killed four girls and a teacher. One of them was 11 and one of them was 13, and the 13 year old had just ben dumped by his girlfriend. He had tried to kill her, too, and right now she is in the hospital.

In drama class today, we were supposed to write letters to the ex-girlfriend, whose name is Candace, telling her that he hoped she got better and stuff like that. Zach sat at the table next to mine and leaned over to read my letter. He said, “She’ll be reading your letter and she’ll be thinking, ‘Wow! What a bitch!’” [Somehow, I think Candace Porter had more important things to worry about in the days following the Jonesboro shooting.]

I am trying to be nice to everyone, but no one is nice back. I just makes them hate me more. I don’t know how to act so that they’ll like me. I want everyone to like me, but everyone likes different types of people, and how can I be all those types at once? [I know a lot of adults who still struggle with this conundrum. Myself included, sometimes, to be honest.]