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Maybe it wasn’t mine. Maybe it’s someone else’s story, and I’m just jumping to conclusions.

Sure. And maybe Peyton has secretly dedicated her life to helping orphans and rescuing puppies.

Nope. It was mine. I know it was.

A knot of dread tightens in my stomach as pieces I don’t want to fit together slowly start doing exactly that.

Misty suddenly rekindling our friendship.

Coming to my house and discovering where I keep all my notebooks.

Insisting we have a sleepover on a school night.

Sienna’s previous suspicions suddenly become impossible to ignore.

Was that what all of this was about? Did Misty really go through all that trouble just to get her hands on one of my stories, only to give it to Peyton to pass off as her own?

No. There has to be another explanation. There just has to be.

Funny. A few hours ago, I thought there was something wonderful about living in that little block of space where anything is still possible and nothing is definite.

Turns out, the not knowing fucking sucks.

My thoughts are still a jumbled mess when the bus stops in front of Sienna’s house, and she remains seated.

“Sienna,” I say as she continues staring straight ahead. “You’re here.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” She gets up and swings her bag over her shoulder. “Mind if we take a rain check on me coming over tomorrow before you have to clock in at the diner? I think I’m going to take a me weekend.”

“Sure. Of course. Call me if you need anything.”

“What I need is to get the hell out of this town. Nothing you can help me with,” she replies before making her way down the aisle and jumping off the bus.

I watch through the window as she walks toward her house, her shoulders straight and her head held high. But the closer she gets to the front door, the more her posture begins to crumble, her shoulders slumping and her head dropping.

My heart hurts knowing that this is the Sienna nobody at school ever gets to see. The one who waits until she’s almost home before taking off her armor and letting the weight of everything show.

The bus pulls away from the curb, and I keep watching until Sienna disappears from view. A block later, my own house comes into sight, and with it a horrifying thought.

What if Misty didn’t take just one story? What if she took them all?

The possibility sends me shooting out of my seat before the bus fully stops. The second the doors open, I jump out. I race up the steps to my house, then straight to my room. I drop my bag to the floor and kneel beside my bed.

“They’re still there. You’re just being paranoid. They’re all still there,” I tell myself before leaning down to look underneath it.

But when all I see is carpet and empty space, my heart splits in two.

They’re gone. My notebooks are all gone. Even the box I kept them in has vanished.

Despite what anyone else in this town might think of me, I’ve always considered myself a strong person.

I survived my mom’s opioid and heroin addiction. I survived her dying and leaving me with a father who’s just as dead inside. I survived an entire year of being bullied and ridiculed.

So yes, I’d call myself a survivor.

But this… I don’t think I’ll survive this.

I try to come up with another explanation. Some other scenario where someone else could have taken them. But every possibility leads me right back to the same person—Misty.