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Speechless(52)

By:Hannah Harrington






                I just thought you should know I heard about your little silent                     act, and I think it’s pathetic, just like everything else about you. Don’t think                     you’re anyone special. No one misses having you around. Everyone only ever                     tolerated you because of me, and now they all know the true Chelsea Knot. I’m                     just sorry I ever wasted any time on you at all.

                And if you think this week has been bad, just wait.





                For a few minutes all I can do is stare at the computer screen,                     reading the email over and over like if I do that enough times it’ll somehow                     make sense. At first I have this weird feeling like someone just punched me in                     the chest, and I think I might cry, but something hard knots itself in my                     stomach as I read the words again. I want to grab my laptop and hurl it across                     the room. I settle instead for slamming it shut with more force than necessary,                     clenching and unclenching my hands until they stop shaking.

                I leap off the bed and pace around my room, trying to calm                     myself down. I can’t believe Kristen is actually threatening me. I can’t believe                     she’s implying she orchestrated everything that’s happened to me since my return                     to school. Okay, on second thought, I can totally believe it—I know firsthand                     what she’s capable of—I just never thought I’d be on the receiving end of                     it.

                I end up staring into my closet at the dresses from days of                     yore hung in their plastic dry-cleaners bags. I picked all of them out with                     Kristen. Actually almost everything in my closet was                     picked out with, or by, Kristen. It was one of our unspoken rules that all                     outfits were subject to best-friend approval. And Kristen tended to exercise her                     veto power. Excessively. Which is why, I realize, I don’t own anything I truly                     like. I only own clothes I think I should like.

                For instance, why is there so much pink here? I don’t like the                     color pink. I don’t look good in the color pink. But                     a third of my closet is devoted to pink sweaters and blouses and skirts. All                     because Kristen always insisted it was “my color.”

                I have red hair and pale skin. Pink totally washes me out. I                     look ridiculous in pink.