Sometimes Never Read Free Page A

once.
                  I nod back. “I’ll, um, see you at home.”
    “ Okay.” I can feel her watching me as I start to walk away. “Hey, Hope?” I stop, but don’t bother to turn around. I can’t stand to see the look on her face again. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her feet squeak on the linoleum as she walks away and I let out a long breath.
    There is something you should know about me. I am not a sociable person. I like to spend most of my time alone or with Guy and the band. I absolutely, positively live and breathe music. I do not believe in falling in love. Except when it comes to a song, or a band, or an instrument. I write lyrics every day on everything. Mostly in notebooks or on myself, but I like to leave a line or two in strange places. Carved into a tree, scribbled on a bathroom stall, on the side of a building… Maybe it will mean something to someone. You never know.
    I’m addicted to my blog. I ship whoever the hell I want. Gay, stra ight, animal, inanimate object—I don’t care. My one true pair is chalk and eraser. I also like any variation of the two. Pencil and eraser, ink pen and white-out, enter and back space keys. Something that can amend the mistakes of the other. I don’t know—I just like it.
    I have a tattoo that I got from some guy at a party last year. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. I mean, he was giving them to everyone and his work was nice, so I got a black bird on my shoulder. It didn’t occur to me until weeks later how unsafe it was. Sometimes I won der if I may have caught something from the unsanitary needle. It scares me too much to think about, so I try to ignore it.
    Cigarettes are gross, so I have never, and will never smoke them. I do, however, smoke pot occasionally. My biggest vice is alcohol. I’m not an alcoholic or anything. I just like to drink when I’m out with friends or before a show. It helps me open up and not be the cra zy, shy girl. Oh, and I’m cheap too, so I have never bought my own stash. I just mooch off my friends.
    My mom is dead, and I hate her. I mean, I loved her, but even as a kid, I knew it was only because I was supposed to. She was a bi-polar, alcoholic, drug addicted, whore. Half the time, I didn’t know where she was or when she’d be back. Sometimes, I spent days alone, living off Ramen noodles and dry cereal. I never knew my dad and the losers that came in and out of Mom’s life did not even come close to counting. The ones that stuck around long enough to know I existed were only there because I did. Fucking creeps. Well, except Jenny’s brother, Donnie. He was pretty cool. When he told my mom he’d marry her if she cleaned up, she actually started going to meetings. Donnie even said he wanted to adopt me. I probably would have believed him if it wasn’t for the fact that he was dating my mom. I mean, there had to be something wrong with anyone that wanted to be with her for any length of time, sober or not.  Anyway, it obviously didn’t work out. Mom and Donnie were killed in a car accident two years ago. There was alcohol in both of their systems. The irony is not lost on me.
    I hate attention. Most people think the exact opposite is true because of the band, and the fact that I have gages in my ears, and my hair is dyed a multitude of colors. Honestly, I just wanted to change my appearance. I can’t really explain it. It’s like, when you have men looking at you like they’ve looked at your mom most of your life, you just don’t want to look like that same person anymore. At least, that’s the best way I can explain it. Jenny is always trying to play dress up with me, like she wants an Annie duplicate. I can’t stand it. But Guy makes it a little easier. He gets it. He gets me.
    I was fifteen when my mom died and had just lost the only life I ha d ever known. And there was Guy in his too small, black suit. He stuck out from everyone else in the sea of black at the funeral. It wasn’t his