Stepping Off The Path Of Hate

Monday, March 5, 2001

I have now found myself in a world of trouble. But unlike the last time I had gotten in trouble, this situation was the big one. As in, I had gotten myself in so much trouble that I don't know how to get myself out of it.

Here's how the story went...

Last Friday, I had an encounter with two of the worst people in the history of humanity. Michael and Jessica Williams (who are related to Mrs. Holt; Michael is Mrs. Holt's older brother) have proven to me that they genuinely did not care about Jessica's daughter Emily, as they had allowed her to be abused by a family friend when she was just 12 years old. When Emily was 14 years old, she started standing up for herself and running away from home, which led Jessica to force her to go to Barlean. Yet Emily's repeated runaway incidents soon led the police to not only arrest the family friend, but also a next-door neighbor who was coerced into helping that friend keep Emily locked up in a small room and away from the rest of the family (and the outside world). Emily, (who had been damaged from years of abuse) went through a series of unfortunate events which led to me being born.

At the same time, my best friend Milton suffered yet another crushing blow when he ended up being diagnosed with a rare and ultra-aggressive form of cancer. He is quickly preparing for his inevitable early death, as he is sure that no one would bother keeping him alive. As far as I knew, he had been abused by a live-in cousin of his former foster family; that cousin is now in jail.

And there is the matter of Claire Evans, who had revealed that her birth name was Anastasia Gilliam. But that's not the whole story, as we recently found out that Kaprice McCoy is Cameron Gilliam, Claire's older brother.

What a tangled web we weave!

Anyway, the Council of Mothers (of which Claire's grandmother Katharine Moonfire is a member) recently held a meeting at my house to determine my fate. Of course, I discovered that I had two younger sisters named Spenser Clarke and Brianna Johnson and that my real name was Jonas Edward Dwight Hamilton.

Of course, Chelsea and Mariah are currently ribbing me about being named Jonas, but that's not important.

Now, I'm at a crossroads regarding where my life is going. I already know that I can't continue on the normal path in front of me, not when the rest of the Hamilton family had soon found out about me and the "twins" Spenser and Brianna. At the same time, I don't know where I'm going to end up in the future, not when I found out that 99% of my entire life was a lie.

Yet a brand-new week had barely begun when I saw a commotion in the hallway leading to the gym. The Lochland High Cheer Squad was storming out of the gym with looks of disgust on their faces. Many of the students in the hall were watching this happen.

Chelsea and Mariah came to me, with Mariah saying, "What's going on, Jonas?"

"Cut it out, Matilda," I snapped in turn.

Just then, I heard Krista Bradley saying to Larissa Meyer, "If you think I'm going to wear this uniform for the March Madness Extravaganza, you better think again!"

"But Krista, it's not like that," Larissa said as she held up what appeared to be a poor man's version of a cheerleader uniform. (The uniform consisted of a crop top that could barely cover a girl's chest and shorts that were so short that if you wore them, your butt would be falling out of them. The school's cheerleader's uniform was a pink tank top and a pink skirt, but the skirt wasn't as short as the rejected updated design.) "Coach Jordan had asked me to design the new uniforms a few weeks ago for March Madness, and this was what I could come up with at the last minute..."

"You are mentally retarded if you think that I'm going to look at that outfit," Briella Gill said as she, Tracy Maxwell, Karah Harper, Samara Barlow, Emma Day, Adrienne Fitzpatrick, and Mya Smith stormed away from her. They all had angry looks on their faces as if Larissa had intentionally ruined their day by waving that offending uniform in their faces.