SO YOU DON’T KNOW ME, or at least not well, which is fine. I’m not offended. Nobody knows me well. There’s really nothing that sets me apart from anyone else. My blond hair comes from a bottle and I wear a lot of makeup to cover up the fact that my skin breaks out on a regular basis. My body, I barely cover up, because the parts boys like distract them from seeing that my face isn’t beautiful.
Anyway, this isn’t about how I look. For once, it’s about what I have to say.
I don’t think she did it. Tabby. I’m sure she would be shocked I’m standing up for her, because I know she doesn’t like me. Every time we hung out as a foursome—me and Keegan, her and Mark—she barely acknowledged I was there, and I heard her call me desperate at one of Elle’s parties. And it makes me feel sad, because I think in another time and place we could have been friends. But not this time and place, because they pit girls against each other for all kinds of reasons, don’t they?
They say we’re born with female intuition, but we’re great at ignoring stuff when we don’t want to deal with it. Tabby would hate that I’m lumping her with every other girl, but I strongly feel that she had no idea what was happening until it happened. You’re wondering how I know she didn’t do it.
Because I know who did.