Imagine you’re having the best day of your life. Sunshine, rainbows and everything pretty. There is a halo over your head, and the weather is absolutely perfect—not too hot, nor too cold. And then, out of nowhere, a bird shits on you. That’s how Scarlet Bridge looked at me.

The more time I spent in high school, the closer I got to committing murder.

You’re not my boyfriend.”The same velvety voice that I was becoming all too familiar with said, “No, but we can change that.

I was sliding down a slippery slope to disaster at the mere age of seventeen. It should have been written in the skyline that: I, Scarlet Bridge, was straight up having a bad time.