I've been exhausted since ninth grade.
It comes down to one question. Will you survive high school? Will I survive? Because I know too many people who didn't. In the past two years, three people who I loved have died. And two...two other people...who I thought I hated, also died. But I learned that hate is too simple. Jessica's right. Hate is easy. Love and understanding are harder. But they are how we take care of each other, how we survive. My dad loves to tell me stories about when he was in high school. The stories usually involve chess club and obscure bands with funny haircuts, because the '80s were a strange, strange time. But he always gets one thing right. He knows high school can hurt. That it can be painful. That there are days when that's all it is. And he once told me that he's living proof...you can survive. You can get through it. He's living proof, and so am I. And so are all of you. And the thing is, for me, for us, this class, this...generation, high school actually is life or death. We show up every day not knowing if this is the day we die. If this is the day someone shows up with a gun and tries to kill us all. We practice what we'll do if that happens. Life or death. I suffer from anxiety...and, uh, depression. But mostly anxiety. I sometimes think all of us kids do, in some way. And how could we not, with the world the way it is? We hear a lot of promises that things will get better. And...and, look, maybe they will, maybe they won't. And what I think I've learned, what I wanna say to you...is whatever happens, keep moving. Get through it. Choose to live. 'Cause even on the worst day, there are people who love you. There's new music waiting for you to hear, some...something you haven't seen before that will blow your mind in the best way. Even on the worst day, life is a pretty spectacular thing.
— Look... I fucked up.
— Yeah, you really did, but which time in particular are you talking about?
Of course, I keep secrets. Everybody does. It's called survival. The trick is keeping track of which secrets are which, and what lies go with them...and who helped you with which lie. Then there's the secrets you know nothing about, that you're not even a part of... that are eventually going to show up and bite you in the ass. And then what you do about the person who shares your secrets, but no longer shares your life? I've got enough secrets. I have a hard enough time with the secrets I already have.
— So what is it exactly that you're afraid of?
— I'm afraid of not being strong enough.
— You believe me?
— Always.
— You stalked her!
— I'm the student life photographer, okay? I stalk everybody. It's my job.
— That means you stand outside everyone's windows and take pictures when they...
— No, it doesn't mean that.
— That's a relief. 'Cause a first-time offence is only six months in jail, but for repaet offenders, that's a year.
— That's not a thing.
— Criminal invasion of a minor's privacy. Look it up. I don't think they'll let you have a camera in prison, but maybe you can draw pictures.
— I'm not a criminal.
— You are.
— No!
— And you're a creep.
— I just took pictures.
— You humiliated her.
— I didn't mean to.
— You ruined her!
— I loved her! And I know I barely knew her, but I... I saw her. Most people, you put a camera on them, and they smile. They pose. They basically fake it. You don't see them, you see their mask. Whenever my camera was on Hannah, she was...different. Like, real, and... I fell in love with that. Real... So, yeah, I took pictures of her, but that's because girls like that don't hang out with their yearbook guy, with me.
— I love you, Hannah.
— Why didn't you say this to me when I was alive?
People need to take responsibility for their actions...and face the consequences, one way or another.
Everybody wants to talk. No one wants to do anything.
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