Wednesday night, I'm reading a chapter in my psychology book when I hear someone knocking on my door. Assuming it's Harper inviting me to watch TV in her room, I jump up to answer it. It's not Harper, it's Dominic. He isn't his usual clean cut self. He's got a day's worth of stubble on his face and his eyes look tired. If he's hoping this disheveled look will make me feel sorry for him, it's not going to work.
"What can I do for you, Dominic?" I keep the door open just a c***k.
"Did you read my notebook?"
"Yes."
"So can we talk?"
"I have nothing to say to you. I'm moving past all this. Just leave me alone, please."
I start to shut the door, but he puts his hand up, holding it open.
"It was my dad, Jessica. He made me do it. It wasn't me. You don't understand." He has that desperate
