I’m sorry that I let others make you feel bad. I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t fight for you. I should’ve saved you a long time ago, but I wasn’t strong enough. You are beautiful. You were the best at making friendship bracelets at camp in fourth grade, Shane thinks you make the best deviled eggs, and Tate loves your crazy stories. You are worthy of all the love the world has to offer. Your friends stay by your side, and someday you will find a man who thinks the world of you, and you’ll both have children that will be so lucky to have you as a mother. If you want to scale waterfalls in Ecuador and kayak off the coasts of Alaska, then you have to do it. Toss the umbrella and enjoy the rain. Roll down the window and stick your head out. Take off your shoes and go barefoot.
I love you.
I pursed my lips, trying desperately to hold back the tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. Looking around, I noticed Christa wiping tears away and Sydney staring at the paper and clutching the sides in both of her fists. Ana rested her head in her hand, looking touched.
And Jake. Jake flipped back to the front page and looked to be rereading the whole thing again. Amusement tickled my lips, and I smiled.
“Wait a minute,” Ana called. “That last entry is dated today.”
I nodded. “Yes, it was. So”—I quickly changed the subject—“Jake has suggested that Juliet and Katherina are the same person. Who agrees with him?”
I waited, looking between the girls and Jake. One by one they began raising their hands, and I wasn’t sure if they really thought that or they weren’t sure what to think and just agreed. It didn’t matter. The answers weren’t as important as the process.
“Okay,” I started. “Let’s run with that. If Katherina is writing to herself—a girl she calls Juliet—why does she do it instead of just writing ‘Dear Diary’? Or instead of just sharing her thoughts on a page? Why is she writing to herself?”
“Because she feels alone.” Ana shrugged.
“Maybe she’s got a personality disorder?” Christa offered a timid smile, and I nodded in response to their responses, trying not to grin.
“Because,” Sydney piped up, “she can be whoever she wants on the page.”
I narrowed my eyes on her. “What do you mean?”
She licked her lips, sitting up straighter. “In the first entry, she’s supportive but a little condescending, like she’s taking care of Juliet. Like Juliet’s the little sister in need of guidance. Then she gets angry at her, acting like she’s perfect and not the disgrace Juliet is. In both entries, Juliet is portrayed as sad and not good enough. When she writes as Katherina, she gets to be more than that. She gets to be strong and confident.”
I continued, listening and drifting down the aisle.
“Then,” Sydney kept going. “You see her transfer her anger to her mother, saying things she wouldn’t say to her face. She’s also kinder to Juliet as if she begins to realize not everything is her fault.” And she glanced at Jake and then back at me. “Juliet’s not her alter ego. Katherina is.”
My heart tightened in my chest.
Wow.
“So,” I prompted. “Journaling did what for her?”
“Gave her an outlet,” someone said.
Jake spoke up. “Let her say what needed to be said when no one else would listen.”
“It was a release.”
“It saved her life.” And I looked over at Sydney, the girl I didn’t see eye to eye with, but all of a sudden she seemed to get it.
“Writing can be very public and also very private. I want you to forget the rules today,” I said. “I’m going to give you twenty or so minutes. Go put in your iPods, spread out, go to the grass, and write. This isn’t graded. I don’t care about grammar or conventions. I want you to write to yourself as if you’re going to read this twenty years from now. Share who you are right now. What you want. Where you want to go. What you hope to accomplish and what you hope to gain from friends and family. There are no rules. Just write to an older you.”
As they began to dig in their backpacks, I walked back to the stage and grabbed the last journal I’d used. Flipping it open, I sat down on a bench and completed the assignment, too.
CHAPTER 18
JAXON
“Jared!” I call. “Catch!”
My new brother throws his hands up in the air and runs to capture the old, faded football. A car honks, and he twists around, dashing off the street to get out of the way.
“You trying to get me killed?” he jokes, smiling at me, and I run to throw my shoulder into his stomach.
“Ahhhhhh!” I tackle him to the sidewalk.
He laughs, grunting as he hits the concrete. We’ve gotten tons of scrapes already today, but we don’t care.
Ever since my half brother showed up last week to visit for the summer, we’ve spent every waking minute together. Almost, anyway. We’ve played football and gone to the movies, and he’s taught me how to climb trees, even though we have to walk a lot of blocks to get to the nearest park.
Jared lives with his mom a few hours away, and this is the first time he’s met our dad.
I know he hates it here. I’m sure it’s not as pretty as his mom’s house. But I feel safe with him here. My dad’s friends haven’t bothered me since he showed up, and even though I know he can’t, I keep hoping that he’ll take me with him when he goes home. I don’t want to be alone again, and I know that he’ll protect me.