Dear Nobody Read Free

black people at all. It was a very small town; it didn’t even have any stores. Crystal told me how she was scared of black people, but since I had to go into Philly a lot, I had met a lot of black people and they were all really nice. I told all this to Crystal, but we were both still really scared about WHY these guys were in my house.
    While my stepdad and his “friends” were inside the kitchen, I thought about the first time Darrell beat the shit out of me, when I was in first grade. It happened when I woke up one morning and walked into the living room. Darrell was sitting there watching TV, drinking a beer and eating a donut.
    I hate donuts.
    When I saw him there eating a donut (mom had bought a big box of them), I said to him, “You can have all the donuts.”
    Next thing I know he jumps up and starts screaming, “WHAT?! WHAT?”
    Then he came after me—and hit me. Mom was still sleeping. It fucking hurt. I cried and cried, even after he was done. I tried to figure out why Darrell did that, and wondered if he thought I said, “You CAN’T have the rest of the donuts,” like I was being a smart ass.
    But then later, he came into my room, pulled me out of bed, sat me on his lap, handed me the donut he’d been eating and said, “Here. Eat that.”
    I guess that was Darrell’s way of apologizing.

Dear Nobody,
    I walked in the house and before I closed the door behind me, I got that feeling. I knew something was wrong. I could feel it in the air. My mother looked at me, and didn’t speak. My heart began to race. I felt sickened. How could this be happening?
    We’re moving away to the middle of nowhere—to Phoenixville!
    Mom wants to make a “fresh” start. Thanks, mom.

PHOENIXVILLE, PA
WINTER, 1997

Dear Nobody,
    Ever since we moved here, I feel like I’ve got nothing anymore. It’s such a small town that friendships here have been established years ago, and there’s no room for even one more.
    Sometimes I just get so bored of emotions. Sometimes I just get so bored of everything and I wonder if I’ll ever be myself again. Maybe I just need a nap—or a new life. I’ve never been this lonely, and I know how it feels to be lonesome. Being a teenager, being alive, is hard enough—but I am lost. It’s like I’m in a new world, a foreign country, all by myself—and I’ve got to construct a new life.
    When you know nobody, and nobody knows you, it’s impossible to make friends by accident. I try to tag along discreetly, and aloof, but I end up seeming like the tag along I am: “Who’s that girl? Why does she keep following us around?” I follow people, hoping for affection, acceptance—a home. From clique to clique, group to group, I follow, only to be kicked aside—and at the end of the day, I am always left alone, droopy-eyed, and miserable—like a lonely, unloved puppy with its tail between its legs, and misery in its heart. I can only hope, and keep inviting myself along, keep following the group, hoping they won’t mind.
    HA—I used to be a leader—the center of my group of subjects, and now I’ve been banished to an unfamiliar kingdom.
    Two months ago I’d have NEVER been a tag along! And now I consider myself lucky if there’s anybody around to tag along with.

Dear Nobody,
    Lately, I’m having trouble remembering what it was like to have people around that are not so different from myself. The weekend is coming up. Hopefully it’ll be okay. If even one guy calls me, or one decent girl wants to hang out, it’ll be a good weekend.
    I hate this. I’m obsessing over my loneliness. I dream about friendship—using the faces of strangers and laughs of unfamiliar voices.
    I feel like a real life loser—and the game is life. I’m failing everywhere—academically, emotionally, socially, and even intellectually. I am losing myself