She doesn’t know why I throw away Dad’s letters. She’s way too emotional and hormonal these days. They’re just pieces of paper to me.īesides, I can’t blame Mom. I’ve seen Mom fish them out of the trash, but it doesn’t matter. When he writes back, I make myself throw his letters away after a day or so. Now, when Dad’s overseas and I start to miss him, I write him a letter, stick it in the mail, and forget about it. It took weeks to train myself, but I think it worked. I still love him, but the picture is just a picture. I’m proud to say I’ve broken all emotional ties with Dad’s photo. Almost.įortunately, I think I’m safe from another kidnapping for now. I almost wish I could get swept away into another fairy tale, just to make sure I’m not crazy. Just thinking about a normal life feels wrong. Can I ever be like that again? It seems unnatural to not be worried about what's around the corner. I walk off school campus and ignore the cars full of happy kids. Then again, not having friends isn't all bad. She screams a high-pitched whine and slaps him on the arm. I walk past a kid throwing potato chips at his girlfriend. Sometimes I'd like to complain about homework to someone, or laugh about how I can't manage to drink from the water fountain without splashing my clothes. (Of course, if I ever mention any of that at school, I’ll never make friends.) I nearly died in a fairy tale, all because the pixie got bored. I was kidnapped by a pixie, then chased through an enchanted forest by a wild animal. I could win that game without even trying. I didn’t even know there’d been a school dance.Īs I walk around the circle of girls, I hate them for being such idiots. Sounds like the winner of this round is a girl who had a bad haircut and a bad breakout right before a school dance. Basically, it’s a contest to see whose life sucks the most. They’re playing a game I used to love: The worst thing that could ever happen. I walk past a group of girls who, if you asked them about me, they’d give you a blank stare and say, Who’s Ivy Thorn? The parking lot fills with normal kids talking about normal stuff. (Book 1 of the Ivy Thorn series), you can find it here. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to and purchase your own copy. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
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