Rachael Lippincott

I can see that the way I look has set me apart my entire life, and sometimes that makes me not want to embrace that part of myself either.

I suddenly feel like a gaping wound, bleeding out onto the carpet and the comforter and the bed, this hidden part of me suddenly impossible to hide.

I hate this feeling. I hate feeling weak. I hate feeling vulnerable.

I don’t want to be an open book. I can’t be. Because I’m rotten just beneath the surface, and deep down I’m scared she knows that.

You’re supposed to want to talk to me. You’re supposed to want to ask me how I’m doing. You’re supposed to care about how I’m doing, instead of it always being the other way around.”

That was odd.

It all felt so… so normal.

Like I wasn’t quiet Molly, who only thinks about school and doesn’t talk to anyone.

I was just… Molly.

It makes me think maybe this whole thing isn’t just about helping me break out of my shell anymore. Maybe it’s actually about both of us. Because I think in some small way, I’m helping her, too, and she finds it just as scary as I did.

While I’m not sure I really want to spend the
next decade in school for something I don’t even like, I don’t exactly have the luxury of worrying about what I do like. I don’t have the privilege to just do what I love.

I’ve never given much thought to how people thinking you’re hot could possibly be a negative, but… clearly it can suck around assholes like this. Or even not total assholes. I jumped to conclusions about her,

It’s been my dream date for as long as I can remember. I just never thought I’d actually get the chance to see it
through.

There’s something about this night…

It’s everything I hoped college could be but never actually believed it would be after I walked into that single on move-in day.

It’s everything I’ve been waiting for but somehow so much more.