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IT’S NOT LIKE I WANTED TO BE A STALKER. No one says to herself, Oh, he’s cute. Let me follow him around, call him every day, and walk by his house after school so many times that within two weeks he’ll avoid me in the halls and whisper to his friends that I’m a freak and that I might be cute, but it doesn’t matter because I’m a wacko, certifiable, a nut job—one of those girls who takes things too far, makes a fool of herself, and just doesn’t seem to care.
Well, I did care. That was the problem. I cared too much and too