her words.

¤part two.

"Why do boys have such high standards?", Aimee asks as she walks across the balance beam. Her arms are out as she slowly inches along, trying to keep her balance.

I shrug, unsure of the answer myself.

"All my boyfriends always wanted so much from me. It sucks to have someone always demanding something from you, you know?"

I shrug again. I didn't know.

She dismounts the balance beam and comes to sit on the swing next to mine. "What do you think about Christofer?"

I look up at her, confused. "Christofer?"

She nods. "Yeah. Christofer Rubiano."

"He's a player. Isn't he?", I ask uncertainly. I didn't pay attention to guys like Aimee did. She was completely boy crazy.

It's her turn to shrug. "I dunno, but he's cute."

"Looks aren't everything.", I point out.

She plays with the ends of her hair for a minute. "Well, nowadays it seems like they are. They say not to judge a book by its cover but that seems to be all people do. They look for the most interesting cover on a book and as long as it says 'New York Times Bestseller' they grab it off the shelf without reading what's inside. They read the reviews and the summary but don't actually pay attention to the story itself."

"Celeste," My mother bangs on the kitchen table and what's left of my coffee spills out a bit. I'm immediately withdrawn from my pensive state. "You're going to miss the bus."

Without making eye contact with her, I wordlessly get up and grab my bag.

"You know, you can't ignore me forever.", She calls out before I'm out the door.

I ignore her anyway.

It's partially her fault that Aimee's dead.

I step outside to see the all too familiar yellow school bus. Today it would serve as my boat, the road would be the River Styx and school would be hell.

I board the bus, making my way to a seat that's not taken. I sit and try to endure all the surprised looks of all the rest of the kids.

"I didn't think she'd come back..."

"Do you suppose she's emo or something now...?"

I try to ignore all the questions that they ask they're friends but don't ask me. I sigh and open Aimee's journal where I left off.

April, 20

He asked me out. I said yes. I don't know why I did.

I'm trying to figure out who this 'he' is when I feel a tap on my knee. I look up to see the concerned face of a hazel-eyed boy.

I sit there and stare at him, being too socially awkward to ask him what he wanted.

He gets the picture and begins to speak. "You know, you're really brave coming back after all this."

Not knowing what to say, I weakly smile at him. He gives a sympathetic smile back and turns back to talk to his friend.

I move on to read Aimee's next entry, which seems like a message from beyond the grave.

April, 21

Everything is not what it seems.