I hurry along on my little legs to catch up with Mommy. We're on my way to my dance class, and I don't want to be late! "Alonzee, Minney!" Mommy calls to me. I'm hurrying along to catch up with her, when something catches my eye. A pretty blue journal with a purple flower design on it is laying on the ground. It's almost as if some force is drawing me to the journal, because I feel compelled to pick it up. "Come on, Minney, you're going to be late!" my mommy calls. I tear my eyes away from the journal, and hurry after her. We rush into Miss Trilla's Dance Academy, and in the bathroom, Mommy helps me get my tutu on. I hurry into the classroom, and see that I'm right on time; Miss Trilla is just beginning to take attendance. When she calls out "Minerva Cicero," I respond quickly with an excited "Present!" I'm really excited for dance class today, since we are very close to the recital. I dance my little heart out for an hour, then dance class is done. Dancing had helped taken my mind off of the journal I saw, but now I was thinking about it again. I can't explain why I felt so drawn to it. If I wanted a journal, I only needed to ask Mommy, and she'd be happy to buy me one, and read whatever thoughts I put down in it. After changing back into my clothes, and putting my tutu in the backpack I carry everywhere, Mommy takes me out to the car, but I walk slowly, so that she won't notice me stopping to pick something up. Sure enough, still laying in the parking lot, is that journal. I look around to make sure no one is looking, and pick it up, then slide it into my backpack. I then hurry up, and get in the car with Mommy. From there, we drive to Mr. Brady's house. Mr. Brady is my tutor. Even though I'm just 5, apparently I'm some prodigy, so Mr. Brady teaches me, so that I'll be really smart. First, he helps me study Latin for a while, then we work on multiplication. "Ok, I think that's about enough for today," he says after a while. After that, Mommy drives me back home. "I'm gonna make dinner, you can go up to your room and read or watch TV," she says. I run up to my room, sit at my desk, and pull the notebook out of my bag. I look at the cover more carefully, and see one thing that shocks me very much. On the front cover, in neat handwriting, the name Minerva Cicero is written. For a second, I just stare at it in shock. After I've recovered, I grab the journal, climb onto a chair, reach up to a tall cupboard that only contains stuff that hasn't been touched since before I was born, and place it in the back. I clearly shouldn't mess with this journal, as there is something very creepy about it. I close the cupboard, hop off the chair, slide it back to where it was, and pull out the book I'm reading. I never talk about the journal or touch it for years, but I never stop thinking about it.