Trying to live #Wattys2024

Chapter 18 (Edited)

Summer Before Junior Year

Dear Diary,

I really want to go home.

I can't stay here any longer.

Someone died again. A teenager. I mean, they came here because they were troubled, right? They need help, and supposedly, they get it here.

I can't fathom how hard it must be for the parents to know their child died in a facility that was supposed to help them overcome their addictions and troubles.

Mrs. Denvers is extremely worried, and so are the others working here.

No matter how hard I try to act normal or, as Mrs. Denvers puts it, "I know it's hard, but you have to move on," I just can't.

She even told me that it won't be long before I'm gone. But it feels like forever.

Being with Maya doesn't help. She doesn't care that people have died. She acts like it's a daily occurrence, saying they probably did something stupid.

Maybe they did, but that doesn't mean they deserved to die.

Beginning of Junior Year

Dear Diary,

I was consumed by the deaths of those teenagers. I didn't know them, but I cared about how their families and friends would be affected.

I was scared and terrified.

I still lived on because I had to battle my own problems.

If I had been more attentive and wiser, I might have known right away who was selling them those dangerous, unknown drugs.

I never blamed myself for their deaths, but I blamed myself for not seeing the signs.

I returned to Lakewood, and nothing was the same.

"I didn't overreact, right?" Susan asked my grandmother, her hands clutching her face.

After we fled the Hillton diner and possibly from the police, we found refuge in a deserted park. As I glanced around at the park and the nearby playground equipment, I understood why many parents wouldn't want their children playing here.

We had no choice but to wait for Grandma's personal driver. She trusted only him to drop me home. Grams and her friends would return to her place.

Grams sat beside Susan and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Of course not. Right, girls?"

Henrietta and Betty nodded in agreement.

"And every girl does this," Grams continued with a touch of enthusiasm.

"Right," I drawled out, "every girl makes a revenge plan over a relationship that ended years ago, just to get one thing back—a toupee. So, what are you going to do with it? Sell it?"

They all stared at me. I shrugged. "What? I don't think anyone else wants to wear a toupee that's already this old. It's worn out and ugly."

"Plus, who knows what Greg did with it," I added.

Grams lightly slapped my arm. "Em, don't be rude! Say something nice."

She looked at me expectantly, as did the others. I could say something kind—I could do that. "Well, look at it this way: if you go bald, you can use Greg's toupee and remember your successful revenge."

Susan stared at me before making a distressed sound. Suddenly, she was in Grandma's arms, who looked at me as if I had committed a grave sin.

Speak of being dramatic.