THE DOORBELL RINGS soon after the school day ends.

Audrey left for work about an hour ago, and Sofia will be back soon. I'm home alone, once again, and because of this, I head downstairs, feeling a twist of unease in my stomach at the thought of someone being at the door, waiting for me. Much to my relief, the three people standing in the front entrance are none other than the remaining pack members of the wolf pack of Pender Falls. My shoulders relax slightly as I give them a half-hearted smile.

Zoe is the first one to speak. "How's our little jailbird doing?" she asks, placing a manicured hand on her hip.

I raise an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame. "The warden isn't home yet."

Dylan smiles, sticking his hands into his pockets. "So can we come in, or what?"

"Of course," I say, stepping out of the way to let them in, one by one.

They head straight for the family room, settling down on the couches as if they own the place. I head for the open spot beside Zoe, but Dylan pats the one beside him instead, so I give him a brief smile, sinking into it.

"Sucks you got busted," he says sympathetically. "I wonder who snitched."

My gaze jumps to James as I narrow my eyes. "Well, it could've been any of a hundred people, since someone has a bit of a loud mouth."

"Hey," he says, grinning, nothing seeming to faze the guy, "I'm not happy about this either. Neither of us got what we wanted. You wanted to not get a suspension and I wanted some weed."

Zoe rolls her eyes, crossing her legs. "You're such an idiot."

Dylan notices my bandaged hand right then, and his features pull into a frown of concern. He reaches over, picking it up from out of my lap delicately. "What happened?" he asks.

I laugh self-deprecatingly, tucking my hair behind my ear with my free hand. "Scout got a hold of me," I explain sheepishly. "I was just trying to have a nice chat with her, but she wasn't very into it."

James laughs from his place across the room. He's standing up now, fiddling with the decorations on top of the mantel, seeming restless. "I'm surprised you braved the beast. Scout hates our guts. It's a wonder she hasn't taken a chunk out of all of us already."

"Enough about the dog." Zoe shifts her gaze to me, blue and intense. "Since I know how much you hate surprises, I'll tell you now. I'm throwing you a party next week."

My eyebrows raise, and I have to refrain from groaning outwardly. "You are?"

She quirks an eyebrow. "Of course. We haven't welcomed you back properly."

"Are you sure a party is the best idea?" I ask, trying not to sound worried, but feeling incredibly so inside.

"Come on, Al," Dylan breaks in, reaching over to place a hand on my knee, giving it a shake. "You've always been our little party animal."

I give him another flat look, resisting the urge to shift so that I'm out of his reach. "Okay, but that was before I almost died."

"Exactly," Zoe retorts, smirking. "We need to celebrate that there's an almost in that sentence."

Sighing, I consider her words, before reaching up and running a hand through my hair. "Do you actually think anyone would want to come to a party for me? I'm not exactly well-liked."

"That's bull," James says enthusiastically, throwing his hands up. "The people love you."

"People will come, don't you worry," Zoe assures me, her confidence in tact, as usual. "You may not remember, but I throw a damn good party."

"I don't know..." I trail off, grimacing.

"It'll be fun," Dylan's voice comes in again, "and we'll all be there, so you'll be fine."

It's my turn to smirk, and I lean my elbow on the armrest of the couch. "How reassuring," I say lightly.

"Anyway," Zoe says, calling the attention back to herself. "It's happening. Just so you're aware."

"Thanks," I say, not sure if I mean it sincerely. A party still seems like a bad idea to me, regardless of how fun it may or may not be.

I glance at the clock on the wall. "You guys should probably get going," I say, despite feeling somewhat lonely at the thought of them all leaving, but also looking forward to it. "Sof—um, my mom will be home soon."

James shudders dramatically. "Yeah, don't want to stick around for that." The thought is enough for him to head towards the front door, calling over his shoulder, "Catch you later, Al."

Zoe follows suit, standing up, and brushing at the legs of her pants, as though she felt the couch was dirty. "See you later," she says cordially. "We'll miss you at school tomorrow."

I shrug a shoulder, thinking it might be nice to be away from school, if only for a short while. "I'll be back soon."

She exits the room, following after James, and I hear the sound of their chatter as the front door opens, but Dylan stays, lingering in his position on the couch, looking reluctant to leave. The room falls into an uncomfortable silence that I don't quite feel like breaking.

I glance at his face to see that he's frowning, seemingly at war with himself over whether or not to speak his mind. "I really want to go out again," he tells me, bringing his brown, puppy dog like eyes up to mine.

"Dylan," I say, unable to keep from sighing. "We've been over this."

"It's just—" he stops, cutting himself off, then starting again. "You're giving me mixed signals here."

I feel my eyebrows shoot up at his admission. "I'm what?"

He holds his hands up in defeat, looking away. "One second, you're asking me to take things slow, so we take things slow, and you kiss me, and then you tell me it doesn't mean anything."

His words strike a chord of guilt within me, my heart sinking from my chest to my belly, and I feel my eyebrows pulling into a frown. "If it helps, I'm just as confused as you are." Although, I'm confused about many things presently, and sometimes it feels as though my relationship with Dylan is the furthest thing from my mind. "But I'm sorry. That's not my intention at all."

He looks at me again sheepishly, looking like a small child. Distantly, we hear James call his name.

"I'm still trying to figure things out, and I'll probably be doing that for a while..." I say, letting my voice trail off. "It may not be the best time for a relationship."

Dylan's eyes widen as a panicked expression takes over his face, and I try not to cringe, my guilt leaping to new heights. "I don't want to break up, if that's what you're saying."

"Okay," I say reluctantly.

He purses his lips again, before changing positions, leaning forward and taking both of my hands in his, gazing at me imploringly. "I really think we can make this work, Allie. I... I don't want to be without you. Not after all we've been through." He releases one of my hands, reaching up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear, and I feel my posture go rigid. "Don't give up on me, okay?"

He stands up then, before bending down to place a lengthy peck on my cheek, and I stay still as a statue. He leaves without another word, and I remain in my seat, before closing my eyes, falling back against the back cushion of the couch. I keep hoping for things to untangle themselves, but at this point, I'm doubting that's ever going to happen.

I think breaking up with Dylan would have helped a little bit, if only to help me breathe a little bit easier, and give me one less thing to stress about. But I see now that ending our relationship won't be easy, if I even get a chance.

When I finally pick myself up from the couch, I hear the sound of the front door opening. Sofia. I feel nerves settle in my stomach as I contemplate entering the kitchen to greet her versus making a quick escape to my bedroom. The latter is far more appealing, and I do so, deciding our feud will have to be put to rest later.

Once inside my room, I realize that I'm now left to figure out ways to occupy my time during my two day suspension. Homework would be the smartest solution, but then I spot my laptop on my desk, and I can't ignore the urge to try and do some digging.

I grab it, settling against the pillows on my bed. Remarkably, it doesn't have a password. For someone with so many secrets, it seems like a foolish move. I open an internet tab, seeing that Facebook is one of the most common landing pages, and I click on it. I'm instantly drawn to my own profile, and I look through my photos, though most of them are the same as the ones on my wall. The girl in the pictures still doesn't seem like me. The girl drunk out of her mind and hanging off her boyfriend in every picture seems like an entirely different person, a stranger.

I find myself clicking on Audrey's profile, wondering what kind of photos she has. Her workplace is listed as Antonio's, and her relationship status shows that she's dating Parker. Her profile picture is a photo of the two of them, and he's giving her a piggyback, her arms looped around his shoulder as she grins. I click on the photo to enlarge it, staring at it for a while before paging through her other ones. Most of them are much like the first one, featuring Parker, but others feature who I assume to be her friends. She seems like a sweet person, a friendly smile always plastered on her face as she stands with a crowd holding sparklers, or dons a graduation cap, next to Sofia and I, or holds Parker's hand.

After a while, I navigate to Parker's page, seeing that his main photo is one of him walking along a narrow straight lined with pastel coloured houses, seeming to be somewhere in Italy. He has his hands stuck into his pockets, wearing a ball cap, as usual, and his head is tilted up slightly, a smile on his face as he takes in the beauty around him. I can't help but smile as I view the photo, but it soon fades as I click onto the next one. It's one with Audrey, the two of them sitting at a table in what looks like Antonio's; her head is resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed as she gives a contented smile, in turn, his head is resting on top of hers.

I press my lips together, my stomach roiling with guilt. I go up to the search bar, typing in Dylan Sanchez. Predictably, the first photo I land on is one of the two of us, and his lips are pressed to my cheek as he holds me, my face scrunched up slightly, my tongue out, as I keep my arms around his shoulders. My girl, the caption reads.

Sighing, I leaf through his photos as well, seeing repeats of some of the ones I first spotted on my page, as well as some others with James and the rest of the football team, on the field, or at a party, red solo cups in hand. He looks like the stereotypical jock in every photo, and I appear to be his doting girlfriend. I don't understand it. Why are things so different now? Surely if I loved him before, I should be able to love him again. Unless I didn't love him in the first place.

I'm about to exit when I see a familiar face in one of the photos, standing with Dylan and James.

Mason Byrne.

My eyes widen, pulse quickening, and I enlarge the picture, sure my mind must be playing tricks on me. But that's definitely him. Judging by the football uniform, he played on the team with them at one point. So why does everyone hate him so much? Could it be boiled down to a simple falling out, or was it something more?

Letting out a groan, I lean back against the pillows, closing my eyes and shutting the laptop. As if things needed to get any more complicated.

I feel the need to distract myself, and give my brain a break. Reading seems like a harmless way to spend my time, though there aren't many books in my bedroom. Standing up, I decide to go on the hunt, figuring that the most likely place to find good reading material is downstairs in the study, but not wanting to venture down there and risk seeing Sofia.

I approach my desk, looking around on the surface, then pulling open the drawers, rifling through them. The drawers are mostly filled with loose papers and pencils, but then I feel my fingers enclose around something that feels awfully similar to a book. Feeling triumphant, I smile, pulling it out. Then I frown, getting a good look at it.

It's a brown, leatherbound journal, held closed by a thin strap. A surge of excitement passes through me, thinking that this is exactly the kind of thing I've been looking for. A diary. What better place than a diary to learn about my true self? It's the most reliable source, unless lying really was one of my hobbies, and the things written in here are false.

For some reason, I'm hesitant to open it, like maybe I don't actually want to know the true Allie after all. Maybe she's worse than I think. Telling myself internally to grow a pair, I take a deep breath, undoing the strap, and pulling the front cover open. The entry is dated as September of a couple years prior, and it details the first time I met Dylan, told through blurry memories, reminding me somewhat of a kaleidoscope, as it seems the event was hard to remember through a drunken haze.

Later on, there's a brief mention of the fact that Audrey has started dating Parker. For the most part, the entries are insignificant, telling about the escapades of my friends and I, going to parties and football games, hanging around the back of the school, and me taking part in several school productions. It all seems so innocent. From reading this, you would have no idea what was going on behind the scenes.

But then I get to a spot where a few pages seem to be ripped out. My frown returns, fingering the torn remains of what's left of the missing pages. The entries continue on after that as normal, and I wonder why I felt the need to rip out those specific ones.

Not paying attention to what's written anymore, I flip forward, leafing through the rest of the pages, until I reach an even larger section of ripped out pages. The entries stop there. One of the torn pages has a larger remnant left behind, and I can make out the date, early September of this year, and two words: he knows. But the former word is smudged, leading me to believe there could be another letter before that, meaning there are two possibilities. It could either be he knows, or, it could be she knows. That could mean any of a million things.

If it does indeed maintain the female pronoun, the first conclusion I jump to is Audrey. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, causing me to take a few steps back, sinking into the comforter of my bed. Maybe Audrey knows about Parker and I. Maybe she thinks that since I've lost my memories, I won't fall for him again. Or maybe she's just biding her time until she does something about it.

I swallow, my mouth feeling horribly dry all of a sudden.

However, if the male pronoun was my intent, I have no idea what that could mean. Maybe Dylan knows.

I close the journal, only noticing then that a few of the pages and the back cover seem to be slightly singed, like someone took a match to them. My frown deepens as I ponder what exactly is going on here. Why did I rip those pages out? What was so bad that I felt the need to remove them from my own private diary? That seems like the place where I would naturally keep them.

Unless, of course, they were torn out by someone else.

The thought strikes a cord of fear within my heart; that someone read what was on those pages, maybe the person I was referring to, the person who knows. What they know, I haven't the slightest clue. It's terrifying to imagine someone coming up into my room, going through my journal, then not being happy with what they saw, tearing out all the pages they didn't like, maybe even trying to set the whole thing on fire before changing their mind.

That's not something I want to consider, that Audrey, or Dylan, or whoever the hell I'm talking about, did all of the above, and are now acting like everything is fine. Standing up again quickly, I shove the journal to the bottom of the drawer where I found it, wanting to pretend like it doesn't exist.

But of course, that's easier said than done, and I end up reclaiming my spot on the bed, staring at the closed drawer as if it's suddenly going to fly open and the journal is going to jump out at me.