My Bad Boy's Diary

~Thirty-Five~ bad attitude

My mom came to get me and she was furious beyond words. She looked like she was about to cry and I could tell she was trembling.

"Suspended for fighting, Brooklyn?! Really?"

"In her defense," the counselor cleared her throat, "it was Dalton Patricelli whom she attacked and I think we've all fancied decking him a time or two, at least." She chuckled nervously and my mom gave her a positively scandalized expression.

"Look, Mrs. Martins, I told your daughter to take some time and think about things, but I vouched for her to the principal because I think Brooklyn is a great kid with a bright future, who maybe just put her heart in the wrong place."

###

If I thought the car ride to school was bad, it was nothing compared to the one back home.

My mom would not stop lecturing me.

"You don't know what he did to me, Mom!" I finally erupted and defended myself.

"I don't care!" She shouted back. "Violence is never the answer, I raised you better than that. What has gotten into you lately?"

I folded my arms and glared out the window and refused to say another word.

"I'm taking your phone."

I closed my eyes. Just when I thought I had really hit rock bottom at last, I somehow found another rock.

"You are...grounded! Again!" She went on a tirade, listing everything that I couldn't do, including drink soda or watch TV, which I thought was a little extreme.

I got to keep my laptop for homework; I don't think my parents understood that I could message my friends on Skype or Facebook and I wasn't about to tell them, either.

I gave up my phone at the door and sat through about two hours or so of Mitch and my mom lecturing me and them making ridiculous plans for my punishment including doing my siblings share of the chores and finding volunteer work to do in the community. You'd think I had killed someone.

Tabitha kept peeping down at us from the stairs and making rude faces at me. This pleased her greatly; the catastrophe that was my life.

Georgie was sympathetic, but nothing really changed for him so it was easy to be; since I was already doing all his chores to pay for him harboring Dalton's diary.

Finally I was sent to my room and I meekly asked if I should do some chores first.

This seemed to appease them slightly and Mitch set me up cleaning the kitchen.

Honestly I just wanted something to keep myself busy.

I kept telling myself that it was fine; he probably wouldn't even read more than a few pages.

I hadn't written that much about him anyway; only every other entry. It was only, like, a creepy ode to him; a literary shrine.

My mind flashed with all the poems I'd written about him or the sketches of his face I had done or the times I had doodled our names together with little hearts.

Mr. Dalton Patricelli and Mrs. Brooklyn Patricelli.

It was only deeply, incredibly, wholly humiliating.

He had always teased me about being a weirdo, a freak, always alluded to me having a giant crush on him, but I had deepened on him not knowing the half of it.

The horrible thing was, was that if someone was to blackmail me with my diary, the threat would be showing the content of my diary to Dalton himself.

And now he had it!

He was going to want nothing to do with me when he learned what a pathetic psycho I really was.

###

July 11th 2009

Dear Mr. Diary,

It's my birthday and I wish I had a pair of boobs. Then maybe D would notice me, that shallow idiot.

The only attention he gives me is when he's picking on me. And my heart still melts every time he so much as looks at me, it's pathetic. He turns me into a different person, I get all tongue tied and jittery and I'm sure everyone can tell.

I just wanna die.

Then maybe he'd notice I existed.

Then maybe he'd be sorry.

~ ~ ~