October 20, 6 PM
The Blakes' fire escape

I'm not really sure why I'm doing this. Really, this journal has been living at the bottom of my backpack for the better part of two years and, until today, I have never felt the need to crack it open. My mom gave it to me when I was fifteen and struggling to identify my sexuality. She said sexuality is a complicated and personal thing and that she wanted me to have an outlet to express those "complex emotions" in case I didn't feel comfortable sharing them with her. It was a nice gesture but unnecessary. By the time we had had that potentially uncomfortable conversation, I had already come to terms with my identity (bisexual) and knew I could go to my mom with any lingering insecurities.

So, this diary remained untouched. I got my first girlfriend, a senior named Niylah, and I forgot all about this little book littering the bottom of my bag. We broke up six months later when she went off to college and it was fine. I was fine.

Then Dad got sick last year.

I remember getting an international phone call at nine o'clock at night and thinking to myself, "Why the hell is he calling me now; it's three in the morning there!" Dad and I normally converse via email because of the six-hour time difference between New York and Arkadia, so a phone call was a rare occurrence and typically meant something monumental was happening. I answered the phone with a shaking hand and listened as my dad explained to me that he had cancer. The doctors had caught it early; he assured me that things were going to be fine but…different. I told him I didn't care if things were different so long as he beat this.

And he did. Chemo was rough on him if his emails and more frequent phone calls were any indication. But he was still my dad and he was still kicking.

There were so many times when I would get the itch to write down what I was feeling. But writing those thoughts felt so final. Like if I committed them to ink and paper, I would somehow bring about a turn for the worse in my dad's illness. It was a stupid superstition but I didn't want to risk it. I didn't want to bog myself in negative thoughts if he was going to turn it around and get better.

So, here I am, sitting on my friends' fire escape, and writing for the first time ever in this little journal. And not because I am experiencing a crisis of sexuality or my dad is undergoing another chemo treatment. No, I'm sitting here because my mother, Dr. Abigail Griffin, chief of surgery, and generally a crazy-busy woman is going on a date.

My mom does not date.

She and my dad divorced when I was a little over two years old. He had family obligations in Arkadia that, apparently, he couldn't get around and she would not give up her hard-earned career as a surgeon to move to a foreign country. They called it; my mom kept me here with her in New York while my dad flew back to Arkadia. Despite splitting up and having a literal ocean of distance between them, my parents have managed to remain cordial with each other. Sometimes, one could even mistake their interactions as lingering affections.

I asked my mom about it when I was eleven. "Clarke," she said, sitting me down and giving me a serious look, "sometimes you can love someone truly, deeply but still not be right for that person. Sometimes, no matter how much you wish otherwise, love isn't enough."

Not exactly what I had been expecting her to say.

Since that day, I guess I always expected her to be a single, busy, bad ass mom. If she had sexual partners, they never came around and she never mentioned them. She gave me the impression that romance was nice and all that but unnecessary to her happiness. Imagine my surprise when I came home from school to find her slipping on a pair of decidedly impractical heels and applying lipstick.

"Wow, Mom," I said as I dropped my books on the kitchen counter. "What's the occasion?"

She glanced up at me and chuckled her breathy little laugh she does whenever she's nervous about something. Straightening her skirt, she replied, "I have a date."

I'll admit I probably didn't sound like the most supportive daughter when I exclaimed, "But you never date!"

She gave me this unimpressed look and said something along the lines "no time like the present." Honestly, I was still kind of reeling from processing this new information and wasn't fully paying attention. Abstractly, I knew my mom probably hasn't been celibate for fifteen years, but I have never seen her actively court romance/sex before. It was bizarre.

"So, who's the lucky person?" I asked, coming back to the present.

"He's—" Our buzzer rang downstairs. My mom flashed a nervous smile. "Apparently here." She donned her jacket, riffled through her purse, and checked her reflection in the hall mirror. In a rush she said, "I'll be back by eleven. There's leftovers in the fridge, unless you're going to Octavia's tonight, then don't worry about it. Text me if you do go over there so I know. We'll talk more tomorrow. Love you!"

I walked to the window to see if I could get a good look her date and immediately wished I hadn't. Several floors below, chatting congenially with the doorman, was the unmistakable, impeccably coiffed hair and beard of my A.P. Government teacher, Mr. Kane. I watched as his face lit up when he saw my mom exit the building. He opened his arms to embrace her, which she accepted with no hesitation and a kiss to his cheek.

I get why she's drawn to him. I really do. Aside from the luxurious locks and impressive facial hair, Kane is very charismatic. He's always so knowledgeable about whatever he's talking about and he speaks with so much passion. Not to mention, he makes himself available to help struggling students, even if it's not necessarily school-related. All around, he seems like a truly decent guy and my mom deserves that.

However, for selfish reasons, I wish this date wasn't happening.

Three years in high school and I've never quite shaken my unfairly bestowed reputation for being an ice princess. If my mom and Mr. Kane became a thing, it would only add fuel to the fire. I know I shouldn't let it bother me—and most days it doesn't—but sometimes it gets to me. I guess today is one of those days.

Knowing that my mom was on a date with my teacher was driving me nuts so I grabbed my stuff and headed over to Bellamy and Octavia Blake's apartment in Chelsea. I've known Octavia since we were eight. My mom had taken me to Central Park one day and another boy was picking on Octavia. My over-inflated sense of justice prompted me to go over to him and convince him to stop being such a bully (I was a bit delusional, I'll admit). Anyway, I ended up getting shoved on my ass before Octavia decked the kid and Bellamy, Octavia's older brother, broke it up and scared the kid away. She and I have been friends since, although it took a few years for Bellamy to decide I wasn't a total troll or anything.

Bellamy answered the door when I arrived, bag slung over my shoulder and forced smile plastered to my face. His glasses were askew and his dark curls were a bit rumpled; his tie was loose around his neck and the first few buttons on his collar were undone in a way I tried very hard not find distracting. I got the distinct impression he was not expecting visitors. "What's up, Clarke?" he asked, his gravelly voice even deeper than normal.

"Is Octavia here?"

"She won't be back for another half hour. Kickboxing class. But you're welcome to come in and wait, I guess."

"Thanks," I said as I brushed past him. It only took me a moment to realize why Bellamy seemed so harried when he answered the door. Apparently, he had company.

When Bellamy started dating Gina Martin a few months ago, I remember feeling weirdly disappointed. I thought I had gotten over my juvenile crush of mine ages ago. What made the whole thing worse was that I couldn't decide if I was disappointed because he had a serious girlfriend or because I hadn't really moved on from those inconvenient feelings. A part of me really wanted to dislike Gina but I quickly learned that that was like trying to climb a waterfall barehanded. She was snarky and thoughtful and genuinely nice. Totally Bellamy's type.

She smiled at me when I walked into the living room, blush blooming on her cheeks as she quickly buttoned her pants. "Hey, Clarke. How's it going?" she asked as she fluffed her chocolate-colored ringlets.

"Fine. You?"

"Alright," she replied with a grin. "Just on my way out."

I told her she didn't have to leave on my account but she assured me it was just because she had a bartending shift in half an hour. As she was leaving, she kissed Bellamy and softly murmured something in his ear that made his eyes get this warm, affectionate look. I looked away and tried my best to ignore the twinge in my chest.

The window to the fire escape was open and seemed to beckon me with the cool October air. I clambered out and dug through my bag for this little book because I really needed to vent; the person I had come to see wasn't home yet; and I didn't feel much like sharing with Bellamy at the moment.

Five Personal Inconvenient Truths
By Clarke Griffin

- My mom, who has been single since I was two, has started dating again
- My mom is on a date with my teacher
- As much as I'd like to talk about this with my dad, I'm not sure that'd be a good idea because his previous relationship with my mom
- I need to start filling out college applications
- I will probably always have at least a passive crush on Bellamy Blake

October 21, 1:45 PM
My bedroom

Apparently, my dad is in town. I found this out last night when I texted my mom to tell her I was staying over at the Blakes' and she responded with a long, detailed message about how that was all fine as long as I was home by noon so that I could be ready to meet with my dad at two. I didn't even know he was in the country, let alone the same city as me. Apparently, he has something important he needs to tell me but my mother won't give me a clue about what it is. I'm terrified that his cancer has come back. I asked my mom if that's what this was about to which she quickly said no. But then what else could it be? Why would he fly across the Atlantic to tell me something when he could easily email me or call?

Also, while not as pressing as my dad's mystery reason for visiting, it is noteworthy that my mom has yet to mention that she went on a date with my teacher. I told Octavia about it when she came home from teaching her beginner's kickboxing class at the youth center and she laughed in my face. Bellamy, at least, had some insight into what Kane might have been thinking. Bellamy is currently in college to become a teacher and has been student teaching at our school, teaching World History. I'm not sure how much global history is being taught in that class when the vast majority of it focuses on European history, but I digress. The point is that Bellamy saw Kane in the teacher's lounge earlier; he had been humming to himself. Kane, not Bellamy. I doubt Bellamy has ever felt chipper enough to hum to himself. Anyway, Bellamy asked him why he was in such a good mood and Kane told him he'd recently reconnected with an old friend of his and he was seeing her for dinner.

Mom and Kane knew each other? When? Why didn't anyone tell me before?

Bellamy didn't understand why I was freaking out so much. He kindly reminded me that my mom could do a hell of a lot worse. This is all very true but still. I wish someone could have given me a heads up.

Woops! Time to go. I'll write more later. Maybe.

October 21, 9:50 PM
Octavia's room

I wonder if I can just stay here since I have no desire to go home again.

Number of calls from Mom: 8
Number of calls from Dad: 13
Number of calls from Wells: 3
Number of calls I've answered: 0

October 21, 10:15 PM
Still Octavia's room…

O keeps glancing over at me every time my phone buzzes, which seems to happen every five minutes or so. From the glare she keeps shooting at it, she's either super annoyed or super concerned. Maybe a little bit of both. But so far, she hasn't pushed me to tell her and I'm not in a sharing mood. What happened this afternoon isn't something I can just casually tell someone, even someone I've known as long as I've known Octavia.

It started when Mom and I arrived at the Plaza. We were supposed to meet Dad there and join him for a late lunch. Except, as it turned out, we were not only meeting with him, but also with his close friend, the Chancellor of Arkadia, Thelonious Jaha, and Jaha's son, Wells.

We were escorted up to my dad's suite where the illustrious group was waiting for us. They had tea prepared in a formal sitting room like something from Downton Abbey. I could tell something was off then. This wasn't my dad. My dad, despite being the head of his family business (the details of which, until today, had never been divulged), had always been a fairly relaxed person, preferring lounging with a pint of ale and watching a soccer game with me when I'd visit him at his summer home in France. This stiff, suit-wearing man, who drinks tea like some overly dignified gentleman was a stranger to me.

I caught Wells' eye and he frowned back at me. Clearly, something didn't feel right to him either.

Jaha, for his part, seemed perfectly at ease with this scenario. Or at least, as content as I'd ever seen him, the handful of times we had interacted prior to today. "Thank you, Abby, Clarke," he said, nodding to my mom and I, "for joining us on such short notice."

"Of course, Thelonious," Mom replied, "It's always good to see you. All of you." She was addressing each of our hosts but was pointedly avoiding my dad's gaze. At the time, I chalked it up to feeling guilty about going on a date for the first time in so long. Now, I realize that probably wasn't at all at the forefront of my mom's thoughts in those moments.

I glanced at my dad, curious to see how he would respond, but he remained oddly quiet, eyes serious as he returned my gaze.

"Well, I'd like to say that this was a social call, but I'm afraid, we're here for a more pressing reason. Jake," he said, gesturing to my dad to begin.

I watched him closely. I could see how the year of chemotherapy had left him weathered, exhausted, like a piece of driftwood drying, half-buried in the sand. His blue eyes, which used to twinkle, looked glazed. His mouth, which used to always have a smile for me, turned down in the corners.

"Clarke," he said, using the same tone he'd use when he was mediating an argument between me and my mom over the phone, "this is going to be hard to hear. And I want you to know that we wouldn't be here if there was an alternative."

"Okay…" I said, feeling dread claw at my throat. This was the part where my dad tells me his cancer came back and there was nothing doctors could do this time. I was sure of it.

What he actually said caught me completely off guard.

"I can't have any more kids."

Mom jumped in at this point, explaining that one of the side effects of his chemotherapy was that he could become sterile. Evidently, he had. Still, I could not see what this had to do with me and Mom. Also, this felt like a completely inappropriate conversation to having in front of Thelonious Jaha and his son! I know their diplomats, but couldn't they go out and go do something. There are millions of things to do in Manhattan; they certainly didn't need to stay in the hotel and listen to my dad explain his fertility woes.

"Do you remember why your mother and I divorced, Clarke?"

"Because of your careers," I answered immediately. As if there could be any other reason.

"In a manner of speaking. But it was more than that." Dad paused to collect his thoughts. Meanwhile, I was having mild freak-out inside my head. What the hell was going on? "Your mother, of course, is brilliant and worked hard to get to where she was and is in her career. It was completely understandable why she wanted to maintain that. The problem in our marriage was with me and my obligations to my family, to my…people."

"What are you saying, Dad?"

"I'm saying, Clarke, that, just like Thelonious here is the Chancellor of Arkadia, I am the…crowned prince. Since I can no longer father children, that makes you my sole heir."

What. The. Fuck?!

Why didn't they tell me?

I mean, I know why they didn't tell me. They explained their reasons at length. What I don't understand is how they could go for nearly eighteen years and not tell me about this crucial aspect of my life? Who does that? How could they lie to their own daughter like that?

As I listened to them explain about how my mom wanted me to live a normal life away from all the aristocratic bullshit, all I could think about was what a monumental moron I am. How did I go for nearly eighteen years and not realize something was up? For example, every time I visited my dad over the summer, all the staff gave me deferential treatment. At the time, I thought it was just because I was their boss' kid. Now I realize it was because I am their sovereign's kid. I thought about how street vendors would insist on giving me trinkets for free and how boutiques would open early or close late just so my dad's assistant could take me shopping for clothes that would accommodate my growing pubescent body.

Did the whole damn world know who I was except me?

I wonder if Bellamy knew… He's a total history and politics junkie; it wouldn't surprise me.

I'll slug him if he did.

I sat their numbly through the whole explanation and only when my mom, my dad, and Jaha finished explaining their reasons and what was expected of me from here on out, did I speak. "I need a minute," I said in a surprisingly calm voice considering how much I was freaking out inside. Without further explanation, I stood, turned on my heel and walked out of the suite, into the elevator, and out the lobby onto the busy streets of Manhattan.

I wandered for a couple hours, reviewing every memory of my childhood under this new lens. Humiliation gripped me tightly, as well as anxiety because everything I knew had suddenly been torn asunder. In the past, when I have felt overwhelmed like this, I have taken to researching the topic to get all the information I would need. I ducked into a Starbucks to use their Wi-Fi and pulled up my browser to search Arkadia. The Wikipedia page for it was disappointingly short, considering how much the internet loves to fabricate. I was about to try a different site when my phone started to ring. And ring. And ring.

My parents had been conveniently reticent about my being royalty for the last seventeen years but now they couldn't stop trying to talk to me about it. Well, no cigar. I wasn't interested. It was definitely petty of me, but all things considered, I didn't feel too badly about turning my phone off and hopping on the subway to go see the Blakes.

A short train ride later and I was standing on their stoop, feeling completely drained. I must have looked as awful as I felt because as soon as Octavia answered the door, the first words out of her mouth were, "Okay, whose ass do I need to kick?"

I smiled weakly and tugged her close for a hug. She patted my back in a manner that I think she meant to be soothing but, if anything, it just left me feeling sore. Hugs have never been her first choice for showing affection.

"Do you mind if I stay here tonight?"

"No problem," she said pulling away and shuffling me inside. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I replied. And I still don't. Honestly, I can't. Who the hell would believe me?

Weirdly enough, writing it down has helped a little though.