Okay, so I figured out how to work around my psycho laptop, so now I can post the Chad chapter. This one made me laugh. A lot. And yes, the ranting that Chad does to the notebook and the teacher is inspired by a friend who does the same thing.

God Mr. W, why must you hate us?

I mean, really, we're seniors now. Aren't we supposed to have it easy this year? I mean, isn't it bad enough we have to worry about college? You're seriously going to make us write you a journal? With our secrets??

As my little sister would say, 'Gag me with a spoon'.

But hey, you're the teacher, and since my grades need to stay at least in the low B range, I suppose I will make a confession to you, my lovely English teacher, and you, ugly marbled composition note book.

But I have nothing to confess.

Seriously. What exactly do I have to hide form the world?? I'm pretty innocent. I'm a loudmouth, so it's not like you haven't already heard everything I have to say. And I'm totally not a secret agent with a confidential mission from the president.

At least, not yet.

But in all seriousness (which you English teachers go bonkers over) I do not have a single thing to confess.

…

Okay, maybe one thing. But it's no big deal. I mean, now that Troy is no longer just 'basketball boy' (apparently that's me now), musicals aren't all bad.

Oh, okay fine! I'm a dirty hypocrite!! Happy now evil marbled notebook?? I CONFESS!!!!!

In a sad attempt to dissuade Troy from auditioning last year, I told him about my mother and her thing for Michael Crawford, and how he's in our fridge (he's still there, too. She had me fix the laminating last night). I told him how she had seen Phantom of the Opera on Broadway 27 times.

Well, she isn't the only one.

Oh yeah. You know what's coming.

I, Chad Joseph Danforth, have seen the musical 17 times.

And I like it.

It's the truth. It all started when I was ten. My mom brought the whole family, saying it was the best musical she had ever seen. It was her tenth time, and she was anxious to get someone else as excited about it as she was. My father fell asleep, and my older brother thought there wasn't enough fighting. I thought it was perfect. More that perfect. It was the best story I had ever heard, the saddest tale to ever be told. It was magical, a lament that none would ever fully understand. I was in love. The power, the delivery…everything was magical. But even then, I know better than to tell anyone else. I never told my mother how the show had enchanted me, instead choosing to follow my big brother's lead and act as though it were nothing but farce to me. Eventually, she figured it out, as I never missed another show. But she kept it quiet, and I acted as though she were forcing me to go with her. My brother never knew the difference.

Why is this a big secret? Well that's a stupid question. Why are any secrets secret? BECAUSE THEY ARE EMBARASSING. You know, for a teacher you are not very smart, Mr. W. I can understand the stupid notebook not understanding, but you? God.

So yeah. Chad the new basketball boy, the one who was so adamant about keeping Troy out of the musical, is a closet fan. Of musicals, not Troy. Not that I don't think he's good, because he is. But he's not my version of Michael Crawford. Because, let's face it, Crawford was the best. And not like, the gay closet, but like, the musical closet. Which is nearby, but not the same thing.

So yeah. Confession. Done.

I'm out.