I know you. You're going to be bad for this group, I can tell. Everyone else is giving you the courteous silent treatment, because you're new. Not one of us. They don't know the things you've set in motion. They don't know that you're the other woman. They don't know that you lured my best friend's boyfriend away from her and into your arms. She doesn't even know about it yet. But I do. He told me all about all of it. He told me about you.

"Wake up, baby." Dad's voice breaks through my dream. I open my eyes and look at the clock. Four thirty in the morning. "I'm going to go talk to the doctors. Take the bed." I crawl out of my pile of pillows and blankets and into the big bed. Dad tucks me in like when I was a little girl. He kisses my forehead, and leaves. I roll over and go back to sleep.

He comes back a few hours later. Without saying a word, he hands me a blank sealed envelope. I look at him curiously, but he just gestures for me to open it. So I do. Inside are two tickets to Wicked, the sold-out show I'd been dying to see. All I can do is smile and thank him a thousand times over. Then I see the $125 pricetag on each ticket. I tell him he shouldn't have spent so much. "I spend $1,100 a month on medicine just to stay alive. I might as well get my money's worth and live a little."

I don't know why I'm writing you. I haven't done this in a long time. Like the other letters, you'll never read this. Unlike them, this isn't a love note. This is an attempt to fix what's hurting. And there's a lot of it right now.

In three days you'll be 18. It will be the day I've counted down to for years. And nothing will have changed. People would always tell me "she'll be 18 soon, and then you two can be together". But that's not going to happen. We were closer then than we are now. I think this is the closest I've ever come to hating you.

I'm laying on the grass with my best friend. We've both got our knitting out, and we're watching the swallows swoop down over the lake. There's nothing excting happening, but it's one of those perfect moments where you're just happy to be alive.

Click. Click. The sound of our knitting is the only noise around. I look at her, and I can tell something's wrong. I don't ask, though. I know she'll tell me when she's ready, and prying will only make her less willing. Click. Click. One of the beautiful coy fish glides by, and we both watch it in silence. Click click. Finally, she speaks.

We met innocently enough. It was girl's night. There was a group of us staying the night at my best friend's apartment. Most of us had known each other for years. I caught up with my old friends, and got introduced to the only person there I didn't know. She was a friend of a friend, and didn't really know any of us. I liked her right from the start. She was just very laid back and had a great sense of humor. Easily the type of girl I could fall for.

There was just one problem: I was done with romance and intimacy. It had been over a year since my love life went to hell. I was still having some problems with letting my guard down. It probably didn't help that my ex enjoyed fucking with my emotions more than any other sport. No, I wasn't ready for this. Not yet.

Guess what kids? Brosia is a very stupid girl. Do you know why? Because she slept with her ex. You know, that one she swore she was done with? The one she's spent the past year trying to get over? Yeah, that one. Should you see her, please smack her. Hard.

I really hate my brain sometimes. It tells me I'm gay. It's been telling me that for quite some time now, and that's fine with me. It's fine with everyone I know. It's a role I quite enjoy. I'm this hick town's resident gay girl. So why do I have a boy on my mind?

I suppose it's time for an update in the life of moi. I've been pretty busy lately, without actually doing anything. Does that make much sense? The home life sucks again, so I've been living with various friends. Living with men like my mom's boyfriend, is it any wonder I'm gay? Ugh. Anyway, I like staying with my crowd because it keeps me entertained. Lately I've been staying with the friend I wrote about last time. She has her own apartment, so we can pretty much do what we want. It's nice.

My friend came to me with a bizarre request. She asked if she could use me as her hero in mythology class. Thinking it would be cool to have a charcter based on me, I agreed. It would be interesting to see which of my traits she decided to use, and what sort of challenges my alter-ego would face. And even if the story wasn't so great, it was still a major compliment.

She went on to explain the project. She needed to pick a real-life hero, a fictional hero, and a famous hero. As soon as she heard the assignment, she knew she'd be writing about me. Ok, I thought, It's not quite what I expected. But this was even better. It's not every day you get the chance to be a hero.

I'm getting a new tattoo. In my family, tattoos don't mean rebellion. My own mother gives them to me. They aren't fashion forward. You don't get them to be cool, or to be different. In my family, you get them to signify something. You get them when there's something happening in your life, or something you've discovered about yourself. They're a little reminder, a little tribute, to that certain something you don't want to forget.

My newest dedication is a little black handprint. Nothing fancy, nothing outrageous. It's going on my chest, where only I will ever see it. When I decided on it, it meant something to me. But that meaning has changed over time. What was going to be a reminder of my first love has turned into a tribute to the people who mean the most to me.

A lot has happened since I last wrote. I guess I just sort of had to deal before I shared anything with the world.

It started a little over a week ago. Sari and I were having one of our little secret chats. I wrote about it in my journal, but couldn't bring myself to post it here. I guess it was still to fresh to share with anyone. So here it is, straight from my journal on the night it happened:

I've known Tiffany, better known as Limpit, since I was in diapers. She's a couple of years older than me, so you'd think we would have drifted apart by now. That's not the case. She's been a constant force in my life. And she's one of the few who doesn't mind my sexuality in the least.

Just thinking about her brings a smile to my face. I used to live next door to her, so we saw each other every day. I think I spent more nights on her couch than in my own bed. I always had a place over there. Her family loved me, though I could never quite figure out why. They were all very conservative, and my family owned a motorcycle shop. I think that should give you an idea of my upbringing. But they put up with all my wild ideas and habits. So it never really bothered me that we were so different.

Sari's parents went to bed early, so she and I got to talk a little over the computer. I wrote this afterwards just to get it out of my system. I made the mistake of letting a friend read it, because now she's insisting I post it somewhere. So here it is.

The big trip is next month. I've been invited to a wedding by the rich side of the family. I'm flying out to my aunt's house in California. We'll stay there for about a week, then fly to London. I love to travel, so this is a dream for me.

There's just a few problems. None of the people going know that I'm gay. It will be me, my grandpa, my aunt, my uncle, and my two cousins. And, with the exception of my grandpa, they're all very religious. Very Catholic.