Stacey's stepmother called me today: I guess Stacey showed her some of the portraits from my photography project...and she thought they were good, really good. So good that she offered me a job this summer, an internship: I'd be an assistant on her photoshoots and her castings, help her with her equiptment and her studio...I'd be working for a real live well-known photographer! I'd have to move to New York for the summer, though Kevin and Shoshannah said that I could stay at the brownstone in the city with David; it didn't even hit me until after we three had talked it out that I had no intentions of asking for Dad's permission.

Not after what happened on Father's Day. No.

I don't want to leave here, my new home, Bee and all of my friends. Dawn. Loes. But if I told Samantha no, wouldn't I be doing what I've done all year? Putting everybody ahead of myself and nearly breaking apart over and over. It's like I have to give all I can because back in December, I took all of those pills and this is my penance. Have I done enough? I feel like I've been lying still on the bathroom floor, drowning in all of that water. Can I stand now? Can I walk into something new, something that's mine, and not be guilty?

Do I have a label on my head? This girl is disposable. This girl is invisible.

This girl is worthless. Walk through her. Bulldoze through her.

Rip her apart like Kleenex.

How many people have treated me badly my whole life because they thought they had more value than me? Corinne is just the latest. Susan...I'd like to believe her when she said she didn't know it was all to hurt me, but...she's a part of it, too, isn't she. I've been quiet and shy, but I've been good, and I don't hurt people, and I never ask for anything, and yet this happens over and over again.

You think it wouldn't hurt like this anymore. When my father's been doing this my whole life: not listening to me. Acting like he knows better, even when I hurt. Right for him is right for me.

I have a sparkling tiara on my bedside table now, and it glitters like a faraway star. I used to wish on stars for things, but all of my wishes were for him. I never wished for a first kiss or a boyfriend, like the other girls did. I wished for good grades for Dad. I wished that Dad would be happy. I wished that Dad would be happy with me. Even my dreams belong to him.

But I have a crown now that says that sometimes, you can flip it all upside down. Maybe this isn't a symbol of one crazy night. Maybe it's the first star of my own.

When Logan and I broke up the first time, back in eighth grade, I forgave him, and he corrected what he was doing wrong: he had stopped listening to me. He stopped listening, and I forgot that to be listened to, you have to speak up. People not listening to what I say, though, has stayed with me. He doesn't do it anymore, he wouldn't dare, but...others do.

I've been trying to put my finger on why I haven't been eager to spend time with Carly lately. At first I thought it was because of that trust issue that was raised in our conversation, but that wasn't right: I give time to everyone, and Carly is a great, amazing, talented person, why wouldn't I want to spend time with someone like that, even if it never deepened into a friendship because of her own reservations? And then I realized it as Shoshannah made me a bowl of Cream of Wheat for breakfast: it's soft like soup but not as messy as oatmeal. I don't like oatmeal right now, it's so ragged looking, you can't keep it even as you eat it. I was smoothing the surface of the food and I looked up, it hit me that I hadn't even had to say that I was struggling, everyone knew. At some point, my voice stopped being important. Everyone can see that I've lost weight. That I'm...my food habits have picked up, that I'm counting every bite. My voice has disappeared: if I said I was fine, everyone would ignore me, wouldn't they.

Carly ignored what I said. And I'm upset. I guess I didn't realize it until just now.

( Ghosts appear and fade away. )

It was easy to figure out, when I was at the Lodge in Utah: I want to be a person that other people can confide in, I want to be a person that other people can turn to for sympathy and care and a shoulder to cry on, all because I didn't have that when I was growing up. Kristy was wonderful, but she never was the type to listen very well; the only person I had was Mimi, and I wanted to be Mimi to others. It's a very maternal thing, what I try to be for my friends, for strangers. But it makes me happy. My therapists, though, all of them from Dr. Reese to the doctors I have now, have told me that it's not my job to be the world's therapist. It's not my job to heal everyone.

Lately, I...first, I have to tell off Abby to get her to make a breakthrough, which is fine. But then I'm trying to reach out to Tree Daniels? I'm trying to convince Carly to trust people? The conversation with Carly left me confused...and tired. Not tired physically, exactly, but tired mentally because my first thought was, "Well, if she doesn't expect anything from relationships, then I'm going to be that friend who changes everything and fixes her of this!" But the idea of that made me so...tired. Wasn't I the one who told Logan that I have to fix myself? Isn't that the same for her? And more than that: when did I become the person who heals everyone? Dr. Axtell said that my problems are heavy and gigantic and exhausting, and when I put healing others over healing myself, I hurt myself, and that there's a difference between being a good friend and doing what I do sometimes...what I feel like I should do with Carly.

But I guess it's even more than that: it's that, ever since December, I thought Carly and I were building a friendship that started with our art bonding and was going deeper. But when she has this categorical rule that she'll only give so much...then do we have a real friendship at all? Is being more than just art friends...worth it with someone who isn't willing to have a relationship? I don't want to sit around and therapyspeak at each other when it's clear that under it all, she's not willing to invest in me like I'd be in her, and...that she doesn't trust me. I understand that her family has been hard, but...if she's that closed off, I'm not egotistical enough to think that I'll be the person to magically heal her after all of this time...I don't know. I just feel suddenly like she's fenced me away from her...and I don't know if I want to stand there with a pair of wirecutters and snap the electric wires that keep me away. At what point do I say that it's not worth it?

Ironic: Tree accused me of stealing Carly away from her. The truth is, Carly was never available to be stolen in the first place.

Tree apologized, this half-hearted apology about how she lashed out and thought and still thinks that I "stole" Carly Orlov's friendship from her, and I was stupid enough to accept it before saying to her how her bitchy comment about Logan was totally out of line. She claimed she "blanked" on who Logan was, as if there are so many Logans in Stoneybrook and the world at large and...okay, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard and how she even thinks anyone but herself could fall for it, but...I don't know, I suppose, in her head, she's convinced herself it's true. What am I going to do, throw a fit? If I am writing in my journal, I bet she writes in hers about how sanctimonious I am, how awful I am, how maligned she is...she'll throw herself a pity party all across her page about how I lectured her over something that she didn't deserve.

I told her that not everybody is out to get her. Maybe I was wrong: I think Tree's her own worst enemy, so...I guess...someone is out to get her. Just that it's herself.

I suppose I feel bad for her, in a way? Feel sorry for her? But considering how much she hates me, and now that I think about it, she never apologized or even explained that after knowing me her whole life and never saying a cross word, getting along, I am friendly with her boyfriend and have always been and...how in one month she treated me so awfully, so grossly out of proportion, how...

Why am I wasting my time and energy and words on someone like her?

Some people are just mean. Some people are just bitches.

And some of them are named Tree Daniels. It's fools like me who forget they exist in the world.

Tomorrow's the High School National Latin Exam. Last year, I only got summa cum laude and the gold medal; this year, I want the perfect paper certificate. I've studied so much...

...I think I'm going to puke.

I don't know.

If someone hurt me, physically hurt me, I'd want...I'd expect Logan to defend me, to stand up for me. To hurt them like they hurt me. On the other...I'm angry at Pete for doing that. I'm pissed, genuinely upset at him, for something that I'd want Logan to do for me. I guess: no. I'd want Logan to defend me, but I wouldn't want it to be public. The fact that Pete did it in front of other people meant that everybody now knows. Everybody. Why couldn't he wait, why couldn't he do it in private! I don't understand.

I have trouble looking some of my friends in the eye sometimes, because they know: they know my dark secret, they know I was in a hospital, and so many of them know what I did, and I want to crawl out of my skin, I'm so shamed by the fact that they know. And I feel this pressure to be more perfect than ever around them, so that they think that I'm fine now. Maybe they'll forget. Maybe they'll forget that I smashed apart, maybe...if I were Andi, and everybody knew that my boyfriend beat me, I'd kill myself. I'd kill myself, I couldn't do it, I couldn't go to school, knowing that everybody knew...Andi's stronger than I am. But...I just...I don't know.

How do I tell her how much I ache for her? You can't go up to someone and say, So there's this rumor... I can't. But how do I tell her...and I feel so stupid, my God, I feel...how stupid I was! I cooed over that bracelet...my necklace looks like hers, I'll never be able to wear this necklace again, I'm so ashamed of myself for gushing over how romantic it was that Andi had changed Bruce while he was making her bleed. I want to be here for Andi now, I want to sit with her if she wants to talk, if she wants to not talk...but I don't want to crowd her, shadow her, scare her...these rumors, that I know because of a rumor...

Logan's coming over tonight. I asked the Hirschs if he could, and they didn't care, and we asked his parents, and it took a bit of convincing, but because of what happened to his mother, I suppose they yielded because we found their sensitive button and pushed it: when girls are treated badly. I just want him around tonight. I want to talk. I want to not talk. But...I just want my boyfriend around tonight because...just because. I just want him, and I don't care if that makes me stupid or weak or lame, I want him tonight. Because I'm scared. Because I'm angry at a good friend, and I won't ever tell him why because I can't bear to let him know that I'm not All Better. Because I'll never be perfect enough to make it all go away.

Because all I can do is cry for Andi, and not a single tear makes it better for her. Not a single one.

Hey baby, it's me. Logan. I hijacked your livejournal--I hope you don't mind, I'm not reading anything, I know this is really, really private to you. But I remember, when you started using this online diary again after--you know, last spring, when you got home, how hard it hurt for you to see the last thing you had written. I bet it's part of your healing process to look at it, but I figured--if instead of seeing that right away, when you're not read? Instead you saw this? It might help.

I just wanted to say that I love you, my Mary Annie, with all of me. Even parts of me that I don't know, the parts that you believe in--my maturity and my potential and my growth, all of that stuff that you believe in. All of the good stuff that you bring out in me and make me a better person. But I love that you love all of my stupid parts and all of that, too. You love me when I'm stupid and when I'm smart and even when I'm all stinky after practice or a game. I love that you come to my home games and always find me and give me the biggest, brightest smiles: my favorite, best cheerleader.

Jesus Christ, do I love you. I love you, Mary Anne, I love everything about you, even when you scold and when you worry so hard I think you're losing calories. I love the way you look when you're studying, just so determined--I love you in a dress, with your legs just like whoa, I love love love love you in my shirts, my jersey? Damn, baby. But I love when you take them off and give them back and they smell like you, and when I put them on, I can smell you on me, and it's like little hugs, you know?

And I love making love to you--and I love just sleeping beside you, holding you. I love cuddling with you, I love tickling you! Even though you hit me to make me stop sometimes, you worm. I love holding your hand and tucking your hair back, I love your neck. Your neck is long and smooth, and I love kissing it. I love kissing you, all of your different kisses, the soft ones that last a second and the long ones that just make me need you that very second. And I love your smile, God! I love your smile! That smile made me fall in love with you on the spot. On the spot. No one else in the world has that smile, nobody else in the world makes me feel like I'm safe and at home when they smile. Nobody, Annie--Annie, I love your smile.

And you know what else? The Annie that wrote that entry from December 30th? I love her, too. I love my brilliant, creative, talented, loving Annie when she's that sad, too. I just love you. And I want you to read this as many times as you need. And when we fight--because we're gonna fight because, it sucks that we do, but we do, so--just know that I love you. You're gonna make it through.

Yours always, your Loesy.

Oh! I titled the journal, just like you like, with a song :)

To whomever is reading this...

I know you're probably hoping that this last journal entry will give you some clarity, an idea, an explanation. And I don't really know if anything that I write will make this...I don't know if there's anything I can write. I tried to write letters to everyone, but instead, I just hugged everyone extra tight when I gave them their presents. I have everything saved on my computer, all of my notes...I made sure to give Pete a copy of everything I've done for next semester, everything is set.

So all that's left is...

Back when we had the Baby-Sitter's Club, everybody was Somebody. Kristy was the Great Idea Machine, famous for that. Claudia was the genius artist. Stacey was insanely sophisticated; no one in Stoneybrook could compare. Dawn was the California girl with all of these causes that she stood up for. Mallory was the brilliant writer. Jessi was the beautiful ballerina. Abby was the star soccer player, Logan the star athlete. Shannon was a standout in everything.

And I...I never made a mistake in the record book. That was me, my identity. What if I made a mistake? Then that's all I'd be: Mary Anne, Who Was Perfect With the Record Book...except for that one time. What if I slipped up twice...three times...what if I...then that's all they'd remember, since I had nothing else.

All I do is slip lately...and...then all I'll be is...

I never made a mistake in that book. I didn't. Ever. Not once, I still have that book, I was looking at it last night, and I didn't. I was perfect.

I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm hurting you. But I just can't do this anymore. It's better, it'll be better when I'm not here.

I love you all, I love you, I'm sorry.

Mary Anne