Prologue

You’d think that once everyone made it to their senior year in high school that people would just get over themselves. And yeah, some do – most, in fact – but there are still some that have to have all the attention or make the littler students tremble in fear to make themselves feel all high and mighty.

It’s pathetic.

Now, I’m not trying to say that I’m better than them, but I just haven’t cared about what anyone said about me or thought against me. Not since sixth grade. Mallory, basically the highest ranked girl in that group, always tried to get me. I didn’t care – I didn’t fight back or give her what she wanted. I just ignored her. But, stupidly, she never gave up.

For years, nearly six years, Mallory would try and torment me. Sometimes it would be about my clothes – “Ew. Why is it black?” “Why does your shirt talk about a beetle?” and “Stones don’t roll, nimrod!” – and other times about what I said during class – “Lincoln wasn’t murdered. He was assassinated,” “‘Lie’ and ‘lay’ have the same meaning,” and “Blonde doesn’t have an ‘e’ on the end.” No matter what she’d say, it always turned out funny to me.

But some people – like my best friend, Barry – would pretend not to care, but once Mallory’s back was turned, would lash out in protest. I used to always be the one to try and calm him, but after two years, I gave up and let him say his mind.

He knew what I meant when I told him to forget her. He understood everything about it. But sometimes, you could only lead a horse to a pool of water.

Chapter 1

I watched as Barry stood tense for another attack from Mallory. His back was practically glued to the front of the old, beaten up lockers. It was just past the final bell for the day, and we stood at Barry’s locker. Mallory was walking – perfectly as some would say – down to the hall that we stood. Her tight skirt hugged her butt like a lifeline. Her shirt came down just far enough not to be considered whore-ish. And I’m sure her make-up was holding back the hideous monster that was layered below.

“You. With the weird shirt,” Mallory barked. Her perfectly manicured nails were a sparkling pink as she pointed to Barry.

“Y-y-y-yes?” he stammered out.

“Don’t you know that gross things like you belong outside?” she sneered. Sometimes it shocked me how juvenile she acted. But then I remember that her IQ is only about fifty.

“Really? Then the doors are right down the hall if can’t remember how to get outside,” Barry retorted.

Mouth a-gape, Mallory stood in almost complete flabbergast. Her hands were securely attached to her hips and the gum in her mouth was seen clinging to her teeth in hopes not to fall. I smirked at her. Barry just shrugged.

“Come on, Heidi. I think we need to actually show her the way out,” Barry joked. He grabbed my hand and we started walking out of the school’s long hallways.

The sun was shining brightly today – a completely unusual weather change for Southern Wind High School students. Overcast and light rain was what to be expected every day of the year in our Washington town.

It was the very beginning of our senior year – September’s happy atmosphere cheering up the idea of almost being out of school permanently. It was probably going to be the last year that Barry and I could see each other every day. His college plans were way different from what I had in my own mind.

So, I vowed to savoir every day of our last year together.

As we walked down the steps of Southern Wind, Barry’s hand was still connected to mine. It wasn’t unusual for us to hold hands – a simple gesture of true friendship between us. Thankfully, we lived practically next to each other. His house was two houses down from mine. Every day, Barry and I would walk to and from school, and on the weekends we would hang out at each other’s house. It was a friendship I would never want to end.

We sat on my attic-turned-hang-out room’s couch, watching reruns of some old show we found on. Popcorn was sitting in a bowl on the coffee table in front of us. We were sprawled awkwardly across the couch. We critiqued their lines, acting, and relationships between the characters, laughing at most it.

It was a commercial break when Barry asked the question.

“Hey, Heids? How do you not care about Mallory so much?”

“Easily,” I replied, popping some popcorn into my mouth. “Why should she get the benefit of the top of the school when it’s our last year of school? She shouldn’t, so I just ignore her.”

“But you’ve always ignored her. How do you do that?”

“Lack of interest in whatever comes out of her mouth.” I looked over at my best friend. “Why? Are you finally going to try and stop worrying about whatever she’ll dish out?”

“I do ignore what she says!” Barry defended.

“Only when she’s in your face,” I sighed.

“Hey, I heard that!” Before I could say anything else, Barry was attacking my sides and tickling me.

“Stop! No! Stop it! Barry!” I cried. But my cries were lost with Barry’s thunderous laugh echoing through the attic-turn-hang-out walls. I tried blocking him – he found another spot to attack from. I tried kicking him – my legs were held down from his huge, muscular body sitting on top of me. There was nothing else I could’ve done.

He stopped and leaned directly over me. His eyes were mischievous, and a smirk was forming on his lips.

“No,” I said before he could even begin to ask me. This was a daily process. I knew that I would never win, but I always had to try.

“Heidi. Layne. Wilson,” he began.

“Barry. Willis. Todd,” I mocked. He laughed dryly.

“No, Heidi. Say it.”

“No, Barry. I won’t.”

“Heidi.” His voice was warning. His hands were holding mine above my head. I couldn’t help but laugh at his serious face. “Say it, Heidi.”

I shook my head.

“I can keep you here all day.”

“Okay,” I shrugged.

“Heidi…” his voice warned again.

“You can’t make me!” I shouted, laughing.

“It would be a lot quicker if you just said it!”

“I know. But it’s no fun that way.”

“Heidi, please. For the sake of both of us, just say it! My hands are starting to cramp.”

“Good.” I thought for a second. “How about you say, ‘Heidi is the prettiest girl in the universe.’?”

“Sorry, I don’t tell lies,” Barry said.

“Ouch, that one hurt,” I lied. “No, I suppose that one of us will have to give in eventually, whether I get bored or your hands cramp up too much.”

“How about we settle with a truce; neither one of us say what we have to, but instead I ask you a question, and then you ask me a question. Of course, we both have to reply to the questions,” he negotiated. Seconds passed and I finally nodded my head.

“I go first. Heidi, what color underwear are you wearing?”

“Green. Barry, who do you have a crush on?” Of course I was curious about why he wanted to know the color of my underwear, but I dismissed it.

“Awe, meanie!” he cried. “Do I have to say it?”

“Yes. Now answer.”

“Oxana,” he whispered.

“Oxana? As in the school goth? The junior? Seriously?” I practically shouted.

“Yes.” He started getting off me, but then stopped. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about that.”

“Cross my beating heart and hope to jump off a cliff.” The show was back on, Barry and I sat next to each other, my head resting on his shoulder.

“Who do you have a crush on?” Barry asked randomly during the show. It caught me off-guard and I almost jumped from the sound of his voice.

“Greg,” I replied in a small voice.

“Greg? Like Gregory Greg?” Barry said dumbfounded.

“Yes. Don’t you dare tell anyone or so help me, your head will be chopped up and burned,” I threatened him.

“Cross my eyes and hope to live.” He looked down at me. I met his gaze. I lightly shook my head and smiled as I turned back to the television.

CONFESSIONS

That night, after Barry had gone home, I checked my e-mail. A couple of messages were newsletters and one from my cousin. I quickly returned her e-mail and sent it. Right before I was about to log out, I noticed Barry’s e-mail and a thought struck me.

Clicking “New Message”, I starting writing my ideas down. When it was finished, it looked like this:

Subject: Confession Game

To: “Bear”

From: “Heidi”

Body:

I was just struck with the most brilliant idea ever. It’s a game called “Confession Game”. What we do is every time we receive this e-mail, we write something that no one knows about ourselves. We continue this until someone doesn’t have anything left to confess.

And don’t try to scam me, Bear. I know you don’t tell me everything.

I’ll go first:

I don’t believe in a Heaven or a Hell.

I hit send and logged out.