she wrote this — maybe she still did. Although what she saw in him, aside from hot looks and great kissing, was a mystery to me.
The next page was a shopping list: shoes, shirts, lingerie, earrings and jeans, all ultra-chic name brands. Many of them were now in Leah’s closet, and I couldn’t deny that I’d gotten a rush when I’d tried some on.
Still, shopping lists were boring. I wanted personal “Dear Diary” confessions. Skimming through more pages of random scribbles and lists, I stopped when I found a poem with no title.
I shifted on the bed as uncomfortable emotions stirred inside me. Deep sadness and despair echoed in every word of Leah’s poem; the sort of thoughts that could lead to suicide.
Uneasy, I flipped to the next page. A colorful, red, heart-shaped card fell out — a Valentine from Chad.
Marking my place in the journal, I opened the card.
Okay, he wasn’t a poet but the card was sweet and almost romantic. Tucking it back into the journal, I returned to where I’d left off.
At least a dozen pages fluttered by with nothing more than random events, such as
Then I came to a very different kind of list, one that reminded me of fashion designer sketches. There were two rough drawings of T-shirts, with writing inside. On the one labeled
On the drawing for the back of the T-Shirt, it said:
I wasn’t sure whether to smile at Leah’s dark humor or sob at her lack of self-esteem. I couldn’t fit this into my memory of her striding confidently through the Halsey High halls like she owned the world. If she was so unhappy, why didn’t she do something about it? I could have loaned her a dozen self-help books with advice that could have helped solve her problems. I only wish I’d had the chance.
A glance at the bedside clock showed me that it was almost morning. Too early to get up, but too late to go back to sleep. Not that I could relax into sleep with so much stuff crowding my mind. Besides, there was still half a journal left to read.
It was odd how the more I learned about Leah, the less I knew her. She wasn’t any one thing: not simply pretty, popular, cruel, kind, sad, or confused. She was so much more … and a little less, too. Would I have liked her if I’d had the chance to know her?
Probably not — but I would have been willing to try.
I found more reasons
I did a double take as I read the next entry.
When Leah had been busy at one of her father’s events, Chad had hooked up with Jessica. Jessica Bradley?
Did Jessica know Leah knew? And what about Chad? Had Leah confronted him?
Probably not, since Leah still hung out with Jessica and dated Chad. But why did Leah put up with the betrayal? Instead, she’d tucked away all her discoveries in her journal. Leah knew enough secrets to ruin everyone at Halsey High.
Did she keep these secret to herself or use them as blackmail? Did knowing things about other people make her feel powerful? Give her a sense of control when her life was tumbling into chaos?
I was still puzzling over this when I found one last poem tucked in the back of the journal.
Chills prickled through me. I wasn’t sure what this was about, except it left me with a bad feeling. If Leah was being forced to do something awful, why didn’t she just say no? Walk away. Leave. Ask someone for help.
Oh, Leah — what kind of hell were you going through? I closed the book with a sigh.
That was one secret I’d probably never know.
