After signing what felt like
a billion permission slips and disclosures,
the visit to West Campus was arranged.
Somehow, the entire school
knew about it,
and everyone was telling me
not to get shot,
not to eat the food there,
not to take too long in the bathrooms,
not to flirt with any of the guys.
From what they said,
West Campus is hell for teenagers.
Right before I left,
Amanda came up
and shoved a folded sheet of paper
into my hand.
“This is for Lindsey,” she said.
“It’s from Maddy.
And don’t you dare
look at it.”