March 24, 1984

Saturday 11:54 p.m.

I, Claire Standish, am a bitch. Someone reading this might ask: "How can she say that about herself?" Believe me, it's east. It's easy to consider yourself a mean girl when people have been saying it to your face since you were fourteen. Since the day I sat with Jenny in the school cafeteria, where we laughed so hard when Joanne Blarke slipped on a milk carton she hid in the restroom until well after school was over. Since the day we gave Greta Crossman the nickname "Grossy Greta" that stuck with her all the way up until high school. Or the day my group and I decided not to talk to a new girl because she lived on the wrong side of the tracks, literally. All these things and more make me a bitch.

But until today I really had not considered these things to be bad. In fact, I didn't consider them at all. I did them without thinking, going along with them just because all of my friends were. It was easier to do them then to think about the consequences they could have on people. I was living in a state of constant numbness and for a while, I guess I must have been satisfied.

Today was the first time in my life when I regretted doing all those things. The first time I wished I could have done things differently. I wish I could take back all of the things I did to gain the title. I wish I were a different person. Maybe then, I would be worthy of his affection.

The thought of being with him makes me fearful. But worse is the fear I feel when I think of my life without him.

Till tomorrow,

Claire

A/N: Just something that was floating around in my head!