Dear Diary

30. DRUNK MIND, SOBER TONGUE

Saturday, October 12th

K E L L Y

"I want to see my friends," I tell Mom.

She shakes her head, opening the curtains to my bedroom windows, letting in the sunlight. "You can't go back to school yet."

"I told you I'm okay."

"It's only been four days since you were attacked." She comes over to sit down on my bed. "A few stitches and some meds isn't enough. You need rest. Plus, it's not only about the injury. I think you need a break from your friends."

"It's not their fault," I argue.

She scoffs. "Right. You keep ending up in life or death situations 'cause they're innocent, sweet kids. That's what you want me to believe? I have half a mind to homeschool you."

"What would that solve?"

"You wouldn't be around people putting you in danger. Regina Rhodes will rot in a cell, but Sidney's killer is still out there if Regina denying involvement in the Cromwell case is anything to go by. I'm worried that you're some kind of target."

"I fought back, Mom," I say, taking her by the hand. "I was petrified beyond belief, but I fought back. I handled myself."

The situation was harrowing, but I learned from it. I learned that I have the power to take my life in my own hands and face my fears. I looked Death in the face and I fought. I won.

I lived.

"And I'm so glad you were able to," Mom says with a half smile and her expression softening.

A knock on my bedroom door draws our attention and a second later it opens, revealing my dad standing there with an eye-catching bouquet of flowers.

"You have a delivery," he says.

"Who sent those?" I ask.

"Not sure. Someone knocked on the door and left them. There was a card but all it had was your name." He walks over, handing me the flowers. "Does my girl have a secret admirer?"

"I doubt it," I say. "Probably a get-well present from my friends."

"That's nice of them."

"Mom doesn't think they're very nice."

"With good reason," she says.

"I'm tired," I say, rubbing an eye. "Can I get a nap in?"

"Of course," Dad says. He takes Mom's hand and leads her toward the door. "Let's go, Abigail."

"All right, Nicholas," she says with an eye roll. She looks back at me. "Rest easy."

When the door closes I take a whiff of the flowers. They're Gardenias. Beautiful with a zesty fragrance. The moment is interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing on the nightstand by my bed. I grab it and the caller ID reads "Unknown."

"Leave me alone," I hiss as soon as I answer.

"Such hostility," D.T. says. "Here I was thinking you were the weak link of the group. You do surprise me, Kelly. Congratulations on being a survivor. Did you get my present?"

"These flowers are from you?"

"A gift to rectify what I put you through."

"There isn't enough rectification in the world."

"You are quite correct about that. I'm sure Idris Patel's family would share similar sentiments if your secret got out."

I go silent for a moment. "Do you plan on doing something about it?"