Dear Diary, I'm Completely Lost

Where Is Hunter?

My best friend makes a gesture when she finally sees me coming to our biology classroom. “Where have you been? I thought you went home!” she speaks up the moment she sees me. I smile at her apologetically. We didn’t have our first period together.

“Sorry. I was talking to Mrs. Ramirez,” I explain, making her raise her eyebrows. She dislikes the teacher. Even more after she gave us detention last year, for exchanging notes during her class. Ah, I’ve already forgotten about that. I’ve already forgotten about Eric. I hope he’s having a nice time at his college. Whichever he’s visiting.

“What for? Do you hate your life?” she wonders, making me chuckle and shake my head. I look around before telling her why I was looking for the teacher in the first place.

“I’m trying to apply to a writing competition. But I’ll actually have to stop sleeping in order to be able to come up with something,” I reveal. She gasps excitedly, clapping her hands together supportively. A true friend, this one.

“No, you totally got this. Don’t doubt yourself,” she tells me sternly. I sigh, not having an answer to that. It seems like everybody believes in me … but me. I should give myself some credit. I did after all manage to write in a diary for a whole year. How bad can writing a short story be?

As I sit at home, staring into my empty computer screen, I realize it’s really bad. Mrs. Ramirez told me I have time to submit my short story until the first of November. But still. I want to put it together now. While I still have the will to do it.

I want to write something historical. Something close to Bridgerton, but not quite there. I want it to be a love story. Maybe between a pirate and between a girl of noble blood? No, too cheesy. But I want it to be cheesy. How do I write a short love story? Love is nothing but short. It takes time. It can’t be rushed. I learned that from my own life.

I close the empty document, deciding to focus on my homework instead. Inspiration will come, I’m sure of it. Maybe I’ll know what I want my story to be about, after I spend the weekend with Hunter. I can’t wait one more week to see him. I’ll lose my mind.

After not being able to deal with much schoolwork, I end up writing in my diary. Again. I don’t know why I keep returning to it. Maybe I’ve gotten used to it, maybe I need it for the sake of keeping my mental health in check.

Dear Diary,

I’ve done it today. I took charge of my life. I approached Mrs. Ramirez about writing competitions, and she had one in store. How awesome is that? Except it’s not. I have no idea what to write about. I don’t know which story to pick, because it feels like there are so many, hiding within me that I can’t decide which one needs to come out first.

Perrie, you’re spiraling again. You should be working right

I stop before I manage to finish the sentence, staring at everything that I just put on paper. Funnily enough, writing a diary doesn’t give me any trouble. Words just flow. Ugh, I wish I’d be able to do that for the competition! It would ease things so much. Wait. What if I … What if I wrote that short story as a diary entry? It could work.

I’d have to make it really long, but I could make it into this mysterious, keeping-everyone-on-their-toes kind of story. I could throw the reader into an emotional rollercoaster that I’m dealing with right now, then make it turn out into something completely unexpected. Like the person writing those events is making them up and suddenly has the diary taken away by nurses, because they’re closed in a mental health institution.

Then, I think again. A diary feels so personal. Do I really want my work to be pushed out in the open, for everyone to read? To interpret the written words as my own emotions and experiences? Because let’s be real, everyone who writes, does it to reflect their inner self. To process events, emotions, experiences that they don’t know how to deal with. Am I ready to let the world see the real Perrie Hughes? All of her?

I close the notebook, leaving the entry half finished. Nope. I’m not going to write that entry as a diary, especially not with the way I imagined it. Really, what kind of picture am I trying to paint for Yale? That I’m so crazy that I need to be locked up? Come on, Perrie, you aren’t that stupid.

In the end, I decide to let this go for now. I have until November. Surely, I’ll come up with something by then, right? Maybe words will flow when Hunter gets his hands on me. Okay, dirty thoughts, leave my head. It’s a high school competition. Minors will be reading that entry. Nothing inappropriate.

I’m startled so much, when my phone starts ringing, that I basically jump towards the ceiling. My face lights up as I see Hunter’s name on the screen. Is it time already? Thank God. I was barely getting through the rest of this day.

He’s so happy to see me. And the feeling is mutual. We talk about his day at school and when he asks me about mine, I can’t hold myself back. I’m finally excited about something, even if it frustrates the hell out of me at the same time.

I tell him about the competition, making him cheer me on just like Leslie did. “That’s amazing, Perrie! What are you going to write about?” he wants to know, making my face sour. He frowns at my reaction. “Uh-oh. Experiencing one of those writer blocks?” he wants to know.

I nod and shake my head in the same motion, making him stare at me in confusion. “Yes and no. I can write perfectly well in my diary, but when I open a blank page on my computer, boom. My mind grows blank, too. I have until November to come up with something, but I really wish I could do this now and get one thing over with,” I explain, letting out a heavy sigh.

Hunter stares at me in an empathetic way, shifting a little so his face comes closer to the screen. “Hey, don’t stress about it. You’re amazing. Even your diary sounds like a whole book. I mean, why not use bits of it and put it together in a story? I think it would be awesome,” he suggests. I shake my head immediately.

“Nope. I was playing around with that idea, but I changed my mind. I’m not ready for the whole country to get to know that much of me,” I turn him down. He contemplates my words for a moment, then slowly nods.

“Okay. I understand that. It’s your choice, really. But let me ask you … What are you expecting out of this competition? Do you just want to participate, or … Do you want something more?” he asks. I take a deep breath, frowning as I try to come up with an answer.

The truth is, I don’t know. I haven’t given much thought to it. So, I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “I just want to get some recognition … I don’t think I’m in it for the win. I’m sure there are students, much more skilled than me … And who might’ve done this every year since they started high school. I’m a newbie in this area. I don’t expect much from it. But it is something that I love to do, and I want it to help me with my future,” I tell him.

I don’t miss the hopefulness that crosses his face for a moment, before he forces himself to push it away. He smiles at me in an encouraging way. “Then work for it. I’m sure you can make it. You might even surprise yourself,” he suggests. I let out a small chuckle.

“Yeah. Maybe,” I tell him, subtly hinting that I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I would rather hear about his day again.

I don’t get much sleep that Saturday. First, I have trouble falling asleep, thinking about that competition. Then, mom throws me out of bed at eight, telling me that we’ll be cleaning the house today, since dad has the morning shift. You can imagine my excitement.

By cleaning the house, I soon realize she meant literally scrubbing everything I lay my eye upon. As I glance at the curtains, she says: “You’re right. We need to wash the curtains. They’re full of dust.”

I don’t dare tell her that I didn’t actually say or mean anything by glancing at the damn curtains. I wasn’t even looking at them, my eyes literally walked past them! And what’s even more terrible, she gets another bright idea when we put the curtains away.

She stares at the window, frowning. “I can’t believe how dirty the glass is. We’ll be cleaning the windows, too. Go take off the rest of the curtains, then come help me,” she instructs me. I roll my eyes only when I turn away and she isn’t able to see me any longer. I have to release some of that tension.

I take the opportunity to glance at my phone, as I’m taking off the curtains in my room. I’m expecting it to be blowing up with messages, but no. Nothing. Huh. Not a word from Hunter. What’s going on?

Hey, sorry, my mom’s making me help her with cleaning. Maybe we’ll be eating off the floor for lunch, I quickly type, sending him the message before I change my mind. It’s fine. I’m sure he’s busy, studying. Or something like that.

But by noon, still nothing. I rub the glass with a frown on my face. No, we’re still not finished with the windows. And yes, we have two left. So, at least there’s something positive in this day. I’m getting worried about Hunter. He never takes this long to respond. Even if he’s studying. I always have to make him put the phone away and tell him we’ll talk later, when he’s done some work.

So, what’s going on now? I mean, come on, it’s three in the afternoon in Connecticut, don’t tell me he hasn’t woken up yet!

I try not to show that I’m worried, but mom figures me out after a while. I’m too quiet. That’s the problem. It’s funny how well she knows me and how well I know myself. Why can’t I just pretend to be talking about something, so she doesn’t ask questions? Damn it.

“Perrie, what’s wrong? You’ve barely said a word until now,” she remarks, making me sigh. I really don’t want to talk about Hunter right now.

“Nothing, just tired,” I make up an excuse. She doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the judgmental gaze that I can feel on my back. But she doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t push me. And I’m grateful for that.

I finally get a response, when my dad gets home. The moment my screen lights up, I grab it hastily, like my life depends on it. What I see, leaves me in an even worse mood. Hey, sorry. I lost my phone last night and it went empty. I just got it back. How are you? Done with cleaning?

I stare at the message, feeling a whole lot of doubt, stirring inside me. He lost his phone. Okay. Um. It happens, I guess. But last night? He was lying in bed, ready to go to sleep, as far as I remember our conversation. He didn’t mention anything about going out. I don’t know why, but the thought of it leaves me feeling uneasy.

Perrie, don’t be ridiculous. So what, if he went out? That doesn’t mean anything. This is Hunter, for the love of God. You know him. You trust him. He’s allowed to go out and have some fun, isn’t he? Yeah, that’s right. I’m not a controlling person. I won’t let myself doubt him. He loves me. Oh, sorry to hear that. I hope it didn’t break or something. I’m okay, the house is shining like a chem lab. How are you doing?