The Black Notebook

by Isabelle Snow

I didn’t exactly tell her that I held almost all of the secrets of almost everybody in school within the palm of my hand—albeit I forgot some of them. The truth was that I was only starting to realize how unjustified the whole thing was for me. Whenever someone was sinking in a sticky situation, I’d grab their flailing hands and try to pull them out, even if it got me tangled up in the process. But I couldn’t say that people did the same for me. I suppose it wasn’t their fault, because I never said anything. I never shouted for help, I never flailed my hands around, hoping somebody could see my distress and pull me out—and there was a reason for it. From what I’ve witnessed, heard, and been told of, people could stab a sibling’s back as easily as they would a potential enemy. I certainly wasn’t going to trust them in helping me with my secrets and problems. I would just have to find a way to pull myself out.