Sunday, November 2, 1997
Dear Nova,
Things have taken a turn. I woke up no more than a half hour ago and lay in bed listlessly until my anxiety was finally too much to keep me horizontal. I gave in, threw on socks and a sweatshirt, and here I am again at my desk, wielding my pen like some wand that might reveal answers if only I can chant the spell just right. Things started out on the right track—but as of now, everything feels like one big mess after another, and I don’t know what to do next.
Believe it or not, Asher and I tracked down Frankie. We’ve even spoken with her. But things did not go as I intended—and it wasn’t until this morning I woke up with an awful realization. I have to think, and I have to do it fast. I’ll try my best to explain from the beginning and hope the act of
