"Are you ready to tell me what happened?" Ms.Moore asks me for the third time since I've been here. I continue pacing back and forth in her office. I can't, ugh, I can't focus, I can't even speak. I'm just so irritated, so frustrated.

My palms are sweaty, and I'm hot. Why am I so hot? My heart is rapidly beating. I can't catch my breath, and my hands are so freaking shaky.

I've never felt like this before, well I've never been in a fight before. Maybe it's just adrenaline. Ms.Moore's office door comes flying open.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" My mother says as she enters; my father is right behind her. My mother rushes over and touches my face. I wince. I think there is a cut there.

My father walks over closer to my mother and me. "Who did you fight?" he asks. I don't respond; I just look at him.

"Ashely Forbes." Ms.Moore answers. "She's with the nurse now."

"Sharron Forbes, daughter, why would you be fighting her?" My mother questions.

"Because I hate her," I spit.

"Jayda." My mother gasps, eyes wide open. "Hate is a strong word," she says sternly.

"Well, it's the right word." I narrow my eyes.

My father digs his hands into his pocket. "Go to the car." He hands me the keys. I blow my breath and take the keys out of his hand, and storm out of the room.

...

What is taking them so long? I've been sitting in the car for like 20 minutes. How long does it take to see if I'm suspended or not? Are they even asking if I'm suspended? They're probably writing a check to the school, paying them not to put this on my record.

I wouldn't put it past them. I wouldn't put it past my father.

I want to get right out of the car right now and storm back into the school. I want to know what they're talking about. I hate the thought of people talking about me while I'm not there. I continue to tap the car door handle with my index finger; I can't stop tapping my finger; I keep staring at my tapping finger, hoping it will stop, but it doesn't. My phone rings. I take it out of my pocket.

It's Caleb.

My heart skips a beat. I quickly hit decline and throw my phone on the seat. I can't talk to him. I don't want to speak to him; I'm too embarrassed. I don't know why, but I am.

My phone rings again. I should turn my phone on do not disturb. I don't want to be bothered right now. And if Caleb keeps calling, I may be tempted to pick up. I reach over the seat and grab my ringing phone. To my surprise, it isn't Caleb; it's Travis.

Friday, I forgot it was Friday. I'm supposed to give him my answer today. My head hurts even more at the thought. I slide my finger across the phone.

"Thought you forgot about me." He says. My stomach tightens at his voice. "So, what will it be? Am I anonymously sending this tape to your dad's office, or will you sell for me?"

I've gone over this a thousand times in my head; I weighed every option, I tried to figure a way out of this, but I couldn't. There's no way around it. I have to do it. My parents can never find out. I don't want them ever to find out. "I'll do it," I say.

"Great!" He cheers. "You made the right choice. So you'll start today!" He instructs.

"I can't."

"Why can't you?" He asks.

"I'm going out of town."

"Where to?"

"New York."

"Well, damn, running away already." He says.

"I'm not running away." I snap.

"Of course you're not; you're smarter than that. Well, come pick this shit up now; I got some contacts in New York, who will happily take it."

"I can't. We're leaving now." I lie knowing I'm not leaving now but in a few hours.

He sighs sarcastically. "Well, I'm a fair man. You can start when you come back."

"I'll be back Monday. Where do you want me to meet you?" I ask.

"I'll find you."

"Whatever," I say.

"Oh, and Jayda, keep this to yourself. I don't need your bodyguard showing up when we make the swap." He says, referring to Ryder.

"I won't." I take the phone off my ear and hang up.

...

I'm sitting in the waiting room of the clinic. I'm finally at my appointment; it took forever. Once my parents came out of school, we went home. The ride home was long and quiet, soon as we got into the house, I tried to rush up to my room before they could say anything, but they stopped me before I even reached the stairs.

We went into the living room, and they told me that I'm not suspended, and neither is Ashely; Ms. Moore is letting us off with a warning. They then lectured me about how fighting was wrong and how they don't want me fighting.

They asked me how I was feeling? They think the medications are to blame. I told them I felt fine, and the medication isn't the reason I fought Ashely. They always try to blame my problems on something else rather than accepting the fact that it's me.

They said if the medication wasn't to blame, then why did I fight? I just told them that Ashely said something to me that I didn't like, and I got angry.

My mother then went on to say how people are always going to say things I don't like, but I can't just hit them.

My father said a few things too; I don't remember much. I tuned them out by that point. All I could think about was Travis.

"You can go ahead back, Miss." The man behind the desk says.

...

"Okay, I found it," Rachel says from behind her desk. I look over to her. She's holding a little black book in her hand. I have seen it before, not here, though. She walks over to me and hands it to me. She walks back over to her seat.

"What is this?" I ask. Examining the little book.

"It's yours." I open it up and look at the blank pages. I know exactly where this is going.

"At the end of each day, I want you to write in that book. I want you to write things that happened in your day. No matter if they are significant or small. I want you to write the different emotions you feel throughout the day, whether you're happy or sad. I want you to document your daily life in that book.

"Why?" I ask.

"It's going to be a way where not only me, but you can see your development so you can see if medication is helping you. Make sure you really write how you felt, not just emotionally, but physically. Antidepressants have many side effects," she says, stating what I already know. "So no matter what you feel, write it down! I must know how you feel, not just emotionally but physically, so I can make sure the medication isn't physically affecting you."

"Can it emotionally affect me?" I ask.

"Yes, antidepressants can make you feel more depressed," she answers. "It can make you overly irritated, along with loss of memory, increased body heat, shaking, blurred vision, dizziness, loss of appetite; it can also increase anxiety."

"Sounds like they do more harm than good." I snarl.

"They do, but most of the time, they do good."

"Mhm."

"So tell me about this fight?" She says, raising one eyebrow.

"My parents told you?" I ask wide-eyed.

"Of course."

"Right, I forgot they report to you," I say. She jokingly rolls her eyes and shakes her head at my words. I sigh and begin to tell her the story of my first fight.

...

"Flight 815 to New York is boarding now at gate 23." A lady says from over the intercom. My parents and I stand up from our seats; I follow behind them as we walk towards the gate.

"You nervous?" My mother asks me as we get into line.

"No, why would I ?" I ask.

"Because you've never been on a plane before."

"Well, I'm not scared. It's just a plane." I'm not scared, even after watching that confusing show about those people on that plane that crashed on that time-traveling island with smoke monsters. That in the end, they ended up being dead all along. Or so I think. I'm still confused about what really happened, I've rewatched the show twice, and I still don't understand the ending. Definitely one of the most confusing shows I've ever seen. Probably the most confusing show in history.

"She'll be fine, especially since we're in first class." My dad says. I didn't know we were in first class. I don't know why I'm surprised. They would never sit in coach.

We walk through the gate and board the plane. The front of the plane is crowded; people are piled together. I look to my left at the screaming baby. She is sitting beside someone who I assume is her mother. The woman is trying to comfort the frantic child and calm her down, but it isn't working. There's another lady next to them. She looks irritated. She rolls her eyes at the baby and pulls out some earphones.

I look over to my right at a heavyset man who has a nasty cough; it sounds like he's coughing up a lung, he continues to cough into a white handkerchief. The man beside him scoots over in his seat, clearly disgusted.

We walk all the way to the back of the plane. The part we are in now looks nothing like the front. It's quiet back here; there are fewer seats and fewer people. There are about 12 people in this part. To my left, there is a small bar, along with a U shaped couch on the side. I assume this is first class.

"Were here." My father says. He stops where there are four leather seats; they have small numbers on the arms. He opens something above our heads. He takes the bags from my mother and me and sticks them in. I take a seat. They're very comfortable and soft. They almost feel like the seats at the movie theater—my parents sit across from me. My father kisses my mother on her forehead, and my mother leans into his chest.

"Get a room," I say. They both laugh at my comment.

I pull open the little shade that is in the window. The flight attendant makes an announcement telling everyone that we are about to take off. I feel the plane starting up. Before I know it, we start rolling down the runway picking up speed. A few minutes later, we are in the air, going higher and higher.

I continue to stare out the window looking as everything below us gets smaller and smaller. Being up here makes me forget about the problems down there; up here there's nothing just me; there's no Caleb, no Travis, no Ryder, no Ashely, no School. Only me.

I'm trying to forget about everything. I'm trying to forget everything that's down there, but it's hard. My brain feels all scrambled. I feel anxious and worried. Which could be because of the medication?

I pull out the notebook Rachel gave me from my mom's purse that's sitting beside me. Rachel said, write my feelings, so I will. I take a pen out of my mother's purse and begin to write.

I can't stop thinking about what I have to do for Travis. I can't believe I'm selling for him again. I don't want to, but I have to. I look up at my father and mother. They have fallen asleep now. My mother's head is still on my father's chest. I have to sell for him. My parents can never know what I did. I know they will hate me. I was ready for them to hate me. That day I thought the police would've traced it back to me. The day they found me on the floor, bleeding out, was the day I burned the place down. I guess they thought it was a coincidence. It was the worst day of my parent's lives. My father lost thousands of dollars, and a few people tried to sue us because I guess deals weren't fully made, and other people's cars were in the dealership, and it was still technically their property and not my father's. I can't believe I burned down the dealership. I was so angry that day. I don't even remember everything that happened. I don't remember how we ended up there. That dealership meant a lot to my dad; I knew that. Yeah, he has others around the country, but that was his first one. His first business, it had value. He would spend hours there; sometimes I thought that maybe he loved it more than me. So yeah, I burned down the place he loved. I know it's stupid. How could a father love a building more than his child? After I did what I did, I felt so bad that I went home and tried to kill myself; I was positive that they would know it was me. I couldn't face them; I didn't want to face them. They were out someplace at dinner, so I saw it as my opportunity, So I did it. I cut, deep; I remember the pain I felt as the knife went across my wrist. I remember how dark the blood was as it flowed out of my wrists onto the white floor. I embraced death; I was ready to accept my fate. I didn't do it just for me, so I didn't have to face my parents' wrath. I did it for my parents. After what I did, they would've hated me for sure. Once they found out what I did, they would've been glad that I was gone. I was happy that I finally found a way to leave them without them mourning me. It makes sense. It does. Well, to me, it makes sense. I would've rather had my parents hate me and move on than to love me and stay stuck, not being able to live past my death. But I don't feel that way anymore. The difference now is that I don't want to die with my parents hating me; I don't want them to never think about me. I just don't want them to stand on my grave and weep. Mary Elizabeth Frye helped me see that. When I die, whether from self-harm or naturally, I don't want my parents to hate me or hate the fact that death took me from them; I want them to celebrate it, celebrate death, embrace it. Yes, death brings pain, but in the end, it brings forth more life and memories. The same way we remember a beautiful sunset or a beautiful snowy night, that's the way I want to be remembered— just like the beauty that's in life and the moments we admire in life. That is how I want my life to be cherished. They can think of me when they see 'Gentle Autumn Rain'' or a 'Soft Star that Shines At Night.' When I'm gone, I want my parents to know that my spirit is happy, and I'm at peace. When I die, I will find a way to tell them. 'Do not stand on my grave and cry because I'm not there, I didn't die.'

(Can't stop crying!)