"How was your session?" My mom asks as I hop into the car.

"Good."

She gives me a warm smile and then pulls off. As we drive down the street, I think back to what Rachel said. There's a reason for everything.

What reason could there be for my parents to abandon me? Maybe there is no reason at all.

Perhaps the simple fact is that my parents are just workaholics. They love work more than me.

No, that's not it; I mean, they're still working now; they work all day. But now they have switched their schedules around so that they can be home so that they can be around more. They did it pretty easily, which means that they most likely could do it before, so why didn't they? That's why I know it had to be me; they stayed away from me. But why?

I look over to my mom, whose eyes are focused on the road. Her right-hand rubs her stomach while her left-hand steers. Maybe I should ask her now. I would rather ask her first than my dad. My mom has always been easier to talk to; she understands me more than him. "Mom?"

"Yes," she says with her eyes still on the road.

"Um... I um." Just spit it out.

"Are you okay?" she asks as she removes her hand from her stomach and reaches over, placing it on my leg.

"Yeah, I just... I..." Forget it. "What toppings do you want?"

...

We pull into the Pizza Shack driveway. My mother parks the car and reaches into the back seat, and grabs her purse. I open the car door and shiver a little; it's chiller outside now that the sun is going down.

I'm glad it's almost winter; I'm definitely a winter person; it gives me an excuse to wear my hoodies. People won't look at me wondering why I'm wearing a hoodie or a long sleeve shirt in 80, 90-degree weather.

"Here." My mom says. I reach and grab the money out of her hand.

"You're not coming in?" I ask.

"No, I don't feel so well. I'll just sit here and wait for you."

"Alright." I close the car door and walk into the shack. Soon as I open the door, I am hit by the smell of greasy pizza. I'm surprised my mom agreed to have pizza for dinner. She doesn't like food like this, then again, I'm not surprised; my parents pretty much say yes to everything I ask for now—anything to keep me happy.

There are three people in line. I stand in line behind a guy; he has on a light brown jacket and jeans. He turns around and gives me a quick smile. I give him one back and then look around the place. It isn't too crowded in here, I'm glad.

Everyone from school mostly hangs out at the diner. I rock back and forth from my heels to my toes. I feel a light tap on my shoulder. I turn around. "Jessica." I freeze and stare with wide eyes.

"Hey," she says softly. Now that she's closer to me, I notice the tiny brown freckles on her face light-skin face. Her eyes are red, has she been crying? Under her eyes, there are bags; she looks like she hasn't slept.

"Hey," I say back.

"I um, I was sitting over there, and I saw you," she says. She pushes her curly brown hair behind her ear; I notice a tiny tattoo she has on the side of her thumb. It's an A.

"Okay."

"I never got the chance... to um.. say thank you." she fidgets with the bracelets on her wrist. "For.. the um, whole thing with Ashely."

"Oh, um, it's not a big deal," I tell her.

"It was.. to me." She stammers. "Nobody has ever stood up to her before, but you did. And we aren't even friends,"

"You don't have to be friends with someone to stand up for them."

She gives me a small smile."If only there were more people who thought like you. she says, So your um still suspended?"

"Uh." I can't tell her the truth. I barely know this girl. "Yeah."

"When do you come back?"

I think back to what my mother once told me. She said one lie leads to more lies. "I don't know yet." That's not a lie; I really don't know when I'm going back to school.

She nods her head. "Oh." she looks disappointed. We stop talking and just stand in awkward silence. I want to ask her why she and Ashely are not friends anymore.

Well, the 'real' reason they aren't friends. Is it because of the sex tape or because she slept with Ryder? If those things actually even happened. She looks around the shack-like she is looking or waiting for someone.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She looks back at me. "I'm fine," she says. "Um, thanks again. You don't understand what speaking up for me did. Really." she says her words sternly; she says them in a way where I know she really wants me to know that my speaking up did something for her. But what? I give her a comforting smile. "I'll see you around," she says and walks away from me out of the door.

And here I thought I was the only mysterious girl at school.

...

"Did you get a lot of work done today?" My father asks my mother from across the dinner table.

"Yeah. Hopefully, this case can be closed by the end of the month," she says and takes a bite of her pizza.

"Thats good," he says; he takes a sip of his beer.

"Can I have some?" I joke. The shocked look on their faces tells me that they obviously didn't get the joke. "I'm kidding." Their shoulders drop back down. I roll my eyes as they smile at me.

"So, are you ready for the SAT's tomorrow?" My father asks excitedly.

"Yes," I say vaguely.

"Remember, you need a 1405 score to get in. 715 in math and 690 in Reading."

"Do I really?" I narrow my eyes and press my lips together in anger.

"Yeah, you do," he says. He looks over to my mother, not understanding why I am upset.

"No, I mean, do I really need a high score to get in? What's keeping you from paying them so I can get in?"

"That's illegal."

I tilt my head to the side. "And paying them to hold me a spot isn't?" I question him; maybe he forgot that he did that. He sighs. "So what if I don't score high enough? Are you seriously saying you won't do anything about it?" I cross my arms. He doesn't answer me. I slide back in my chair and get up. "I thought so." I walk away from the dinner table and march up the stairs.

"I don't get it. What did I say wrong?" I hear him say to my mother.

My mother sighs. "You're stressing her," she says to him.

I open my room door and close it behind me. Ever since I got diagnosed with sutto seizures. My parents have been trying their best not to stress me out. They're scared that if they push too much, I'll have a seizure. My father knows this, but yet he keeps bringing up college. I guess I can't be too mad at him. I mean, I've never come out and told him that I didn't want to go to college at all; I've only said that I didn't want to go to Yale.

But he does know that I'm mad at him about paying colleges to hold my spot; he also knows I'm mad that he has set up college interviews for me without even asking me what I wanted.

I hate that he wants to control my life. He wants to do everything for me. I know he wants what's best for me, but he's so headstrong. He does without consulting me, thinking it's what's best for me. He has never once sat down with me and asked me what I wanted.

If he did, though, what would I say? Would I just tell him the truth? Would I simply just tell him that I want to die?

...

I look at the time on my computer. It's eleven o'clock. I've been coding for two hours now; time went by fast. I email the codes to Thomas and then shut off my laptop and slide off my bed. I walk over to my desk and sit down. I grab my black book; I have to write again before bed. I hop back on my bed and get under my covers, turning on my stomach. I take the top off my pen. Before my pen can touch the paper, my phone rings, I flip it over; it's James.

"Hello."

"Okay, I did a little digging," he says, overjoyed.

"James," I growl. I told him I didn't want to know who that girl was.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry I just couldn't help myself." He says. I stay quiet. I don't want to know. I don't care. "Okay, if you really don't want to know, I won't tell you."

"No, no, since you did all that work, you mine as well. Just tell me."

"Mhm," he says clearly, not convinced that is the reason I want to hear. "Well, her name is India. She's a Junior at Ravenswood High; she's a basketball player, 58, she has a 3.9 GPA, and has already committed to the University of Georgia for college."

How could he know all of this?

"Everything's on the internet," he says, answering my thought.

"Is that all?" I ask.

"Well, Logan said that they've been talking for a while, but it's nothing serious. She's just like an on and off girlfriend." Girlfriend? Well, not a girlfriend." He says, changing his words. "Really more like a fling."

"Oh." I shouldn't have let him tell me, now I feel even worse than I did before. Now I have even more questions than I did before. Was he messing around with her while we were... while we were... well, we weren't together, so I can't say while we were together.

But we kissed. Did it not mean anything to him? I guess it didn't mean as much to him as it did to me. I mean, it was my first kiss and probably his hundredth.

"What are you going to do?" James asks.

"Nothing." There's nothing I can do.

"Really?" he asks, surprised.

"Really."

He sighs. "Well, it'll be alright; there's plenty of fish in the sea," he says, trying to comfort me.

"I'll talk to you later," I say.

"Kay, call me if you need something."

I take the phone off of my ear and hang up. I toss it to the side and start writing.

So Why Haven't I killed myself? Why didn't Hamlet kill himself? Why didn't he just end it all when he had the chance? Some say he was scared of death. What happens when we take our last breath? What happens when we close our eyes for the final time? I don't think that's why he didn't kill himself, though. I think he didn't do it because revenge and closure were more important to him than anything. He knew that his uncle had killed his father. But why? After he got the answer, he didn't care what happened to him. He just wanted to know the truth. Though he had a tragic ending, he got the truth in the end, and that's why he was able to die and find peace. Because he died knowing the answers to the questions that haunted him while he was alive. Like Hamlet, I need to know the truth; I need to have all my questions answered before I go. I want to go in peace; I don't want unanswered questions to haunt me even after death. I need to know the truth about everything. So why haven't I killed myself?

Because, like Hamlet, I too have unfinished business.

(I loved this chapter, especially the ending. I can't stop rereading it. I was hesitant about doing a time jump because I myself don't like when books have time jumps. But I hope I did well. Was it confusing? Did you guys like the time jump? )