My name is Raveis Josiah Moore.

I am currently seventeen years old, turning eighteen in a couple of months.

My life went hill after I read my friends notebook. I have lost all my friends and am facing the world alone. My parents have kicked me out of their house and I'm currently living with my best friend, Janice. We don't talk often, but she's the closest thing to a best friend that I have. Even my cat seems to hate me now, so I leave Vack alone.

Every time he looks at me, I could swear his bright yellow eyes are filled with dissapointment.

He had a right to be upset with me, you know. I really messed up this time.

Everyone knew it, too.

I am writing this paper for my English class. The subject was to write about your own 'paranormal' experience. I doubt anyone will believe it, but I will give you the full story and let you decide fact and fiction.

I think about it every day, you know. I think about him every day. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen, much more graceful than any woman I had ever held hands with. I'd never even touched him once and I was certain that what went on between us was special. He never really understood that. I wish I had left that fucking notebook behind. I remember it like it was yesterday. Honesty is the remedy for liars, while dishonesty's the fuel that has been set aflame. I'm not drinking the poison any longer, and to prove it to everyone who's forsaken me I am going to fix myself all alone.

x x x

"Trash?" I asked out loud, staring down at the notebook. The blue cover was covered in tape; a photograph was ripped down the middle and only half of it remained. It was like Michael had tried to rip it off, but the tape was too strong. I couldn't tell who it was; it looked like it had been taken a while ago... My thoughts were interrupted when I felt his eyes on me. Looking up from my station, the older boy nodded in approval. "Yeah. Everything in that box is old stuff, from last year."

Now, I don't consider cleaning and sorting through papers fun. I would have rather been at the mall, playing DDR, listening to music in my room, or just somewhere with less dust in the air. Alas, none of these things were possible, as I learned about an hour beforehand that night when I showed up over-enthusiastically at the door. Mrs. Layrette gave me the story. Michael had been grounded. No music. No going out. No anything until the attic was clear of clutter and dust. I know she doesn't like me. It was obvious in her fiery brown eyes, in the way that she crossed her arms and stood her ground. She adored Michael; she just hated me - which I guess was perfectly understandable under the circumstances.

To be perfectly honest, I haven't been. And Mrs. May Layrette could see right through me. She was clever like a fox, attractive for her age, and very to the point. She would never let me live this down and she would never let it go. I was in love with her son, which made me a freak, and he was in love with a girl that she hoped he would marry. She was listening and watching like a vulture when we were in the same room. She had made sure I didn't try anything. Had my crush on her son really been so obvious?

I never told Michael how I felt. I thought it would be better that way. I didn't want him to know that I was in love with him. He had a beautiful girl friend named Anabelle Lucille Cassidy that he affectionately referred to as Annie Lee, always hanging off his arm. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. If it hadn't already been taken, she would've put her hand right through my chest and pulled out my beating heart to keep. She did it to him. I could tell. He got starry eyed whenever she was near. She kept him with her in a heart shaped necklace around her neck, painted gold, and she never took it off. She was extraordinarily nice with pouty red lips, big, emotional hazel eyes and hair the exact color of onyx. They fell in waves to her hips, the ends curling. Her figure was to die for.

And here I was - This skinny, unhealthy looking sixteen year old kid, looking like a ghost with my pale skin and heavily applied eyeliner. My hair was blonde with red streaks through it, falling to my shoulders in thin locks. I've been told many times I'm feminine - I paint my nails, my hips have a slight swing when I walk, things like that - but I didn't have anything close to what Annie Lee had. And she was so honest.

I don't think that Michael knew he could blame me. I love him with my heart and soul.

I have a lot of things I never plan on telling him. I don't want him to be disappointed in me. I don't want to break his spirit. I was lucky enough he was even my friend - it was like having an angel in my presence. I never told him about the drugs I experimented with at all those parties we ended up at together, or why I was sick for days after. I never told him I was bisexual - and I never really planned to. I mean, he was pretty intolerant of things like that.

I felt guilty about lying to my best friend, I really did. He'd called me out a few times, but I could never get the strength to admit anything. He would ditch me in a heart beat if he knew. I couldn't let that happen. I know that friends are only true if they can go through that and stay, but I knew Michael. And I knew his reputation at school was more important to him than anything else. If it turned out I was the school freak, it would all be over faster than I could say "I love you, please stay".

I remember years ago I went to this girl's party - Ashley Von something, I can't really remember - and I met up with a good friend of mine. Fran was taller than me and much, much thinner, probably a borderline anorexic. She had big, droopy black eyes, long, thin blonde hair, and a cough that scared me away from smoking forever. She was only a few years older than my self, and at that time, she was seventeen. I can't believe I ever went out with her after what happened. I guess I felt bad for using her to get what I wanted. I knew her friends were going to have drugs at the party they hadn't been planning on sharing, but Fran took such a liking to me. Michael and his friends talked a lot about her. I never really talked to his friends much. At school, Michael considered me virtually invisible. I guess it was for the best. We weren't in the same 'group', and it would do horrible things for his reputation if they knew we were on speaking terms. He made jokes about her all the time, really cruel ones. I hated what he said, but I could never bring myself to say anything otherwise.

I just kept feeding her lines she wanted to hear and she slipped me something, a small pink pill. I don't even know what it was. I have only a vague recollection of what else happened that night. My vision blurred and I felt like laughing and throwing up at the same time. I couldn't walk straight. I couldn't feel my body. I hear I took a nasty fall trying to make my way into the basement, but I got up without any ache. I met someone there, guided by Ashley. I don't remember what happened, but I do remember the firey taste of cinnamon burning and scalding against my tongue and rough kisses bruising against my lips.

I woke up on the floor of the bathroom covered in beer and bright yellow ribbons and I have no idea why. That kind of scared me. How wild was that party, anyway? I don't think I'll ever know, and I'm too afraid to ask.

I was sick for days after that, and Michael always came after school to check on me. I remember him looking defeated as I lifted my head from my vomit bucket. He had been sitting on the end of the bed, looking sad. It was a Tuesday, I think. I was so sick, my head was on fire, my eyes hurt, everything was covered in spots - I couldn't remember the date, time, or even year. It was horrible.

My dizzy mind might've mixed up his words, the fever that clouded my brain might've been playing tricks on me, but he spoke right at me. It was one of the only things I remember about that week I stayed in bed.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?"

"Do …what?" I murmured in response, turning to pull my blanket around myself.

"You know what," He answered matter-of-factly. He parted his lips to speak, but he pressed them together firmly.

I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly the room was spinning. That's when it got dark. Blackness suddenly took me. I passed out.

I think he knew.

"Hold on," I heard him call. He got to his feet, dusting off his jeans. My god, you should have seen him in that light - it poured in through the window in scarce sunset rays, illuminating not only the dust floating around, but also the amazing light brown hair that swept infront of his eyes. "I need to go get the broom."

I followed him out of the room with my eyes, slowly allowing them to lock on his backside. His body was amazing and his build was perfect, as had come to be expected for athletes at our school. There were no fat football players, after all...

Now I was alone. All by myself... In the silence. I remembered suddenly the worn out notebook in my hands. What had Michael written within it? I smirked suddenly, the idea forming in my mind's eye. It was a good question that deserved a good answer.

I looked at the old notebook, taking a seat on the floor. It caused some dust to move into the air and I coughed, shaking my head. I flipped open to the first page.

x x x

That was how it started.

And the answer was far more ... interesting than good.