At lunch, I sat outside near the row of maple trees behind the library. I had a turkey sandwich, an apple, and the granola bar my mother had slipped into my bag that morning. The bench was cold beneath my jeans, and a soccer ball kept rolling against the chain-link fence nearby.
I had just opened my notebook when Madison's shadow covered the page.
Kelsey stood beside her.
"Still writing?" Madison asked.
"Yes."
"What is it? A diary?"
"No."
"Then show us."
I closed the notebook.
Madison's eyes narrowed. "Why are you always so difficult?"
"I'm eating."
"That wasn't my question."
Kelsey reached for the notebook. I held on to it, and for the first time, her smile faded too.
"Nora," Madison said softly, "you don't want to make this embarrassing."
The warning was quiet enough that no teacher heard it.
I looked across the courtyard. The nearest security camera pointed toward the doors, not the bench. Students sat in small groups, but nobody was watching us directly.
I thought about letting go.
Then I remembered what was inside the notebook.
It was not a diary. It was a list.
Dates. Times. Names. Every time Madison or Kelsey had taken something, ruined something, or cornered me when no one else was around.
I had started writing it because my mother told me that if I ever needed help, I should bring facts, not just fear.
The list had forty-three entries.
I had never shown it to anyone.
Madison tugged at the notebook again. "Give it to me."
"No."