Dear Libby,

I go to EVHS and I’m a sophomore. My friend Courtney is a sophomore too, but she’s on the cheerleading squad, so she’s been hanging out with juniors and seniors. She goes to parties with them and everything. I get why she doesn’t ask me to tag along, but it still kind of hurts when she doesn’t include me. Actually, it hurts a lot. I’ve cried myself to sleep more times than I can count because of it.

At the beginning of the school year, there was a really cute guy in my Honors American Lit class named Brad. He’s a couple of years older than me and he’s one of our star football players. I tried everything I could think of to get him to notice me, but he never did. Then one day I came into school early. When I turned the corner to get to my locker, I nearly ran right into Brad and Courtney making out. I was devastated.

After Thanksgiving, Courtney called me and said she’d broken up with Brad. Now she was going out with Trevor, and he has a Ferrari. I felt so bad for Brad. It seemed like he was really into Courtney. Wanting to be a nice person, I figured I should go console him. No one was home when I got there, but his family leaves their spare key under a potted plant on the front porch. It was cold, so I figured I’d wait for him inside where it was warm.

Brad’s parents are apparently polar bears, because their thermostat was set to 62 degrees! I was still feeling chilly, and I noticed Brad has this nice, thick comforter on his bed. I didn’t see the harm in snuggling up underneath it while I waited. After about fifteen minutes though, I started getting really hot. I was even sweating. I didn’t want the cute outfit I’d worn to get all gross and sweaty, so I took it off.

I heard Brad’s parents get home around 8 pm. But Brad wasn’t with them. It seemed pointless to bother them, only to be told what I already knew: Brad wasn’t home yet. So I stayed under the covers in his bed and kept waiting. I waited so long, I guess I dozed off. I woke up just as Brad closed his bedroom door. I could see his clock showing that it was 11:48 pm. He must’ve been really tired, because he didn’t bother turning the lights on. He just kicked off his jeans and climbed into bed.

Maybe I got a bit overzealous with my comforting. I grabbed him from behind and hugged him as tight as I could. He started freaking out, but I whispered to him to calm down and kissed his cheek. For some reason, that just made him freak out more. I could barely hold on, and I guess my arm slipped a bit. I was accidentally squeezing his neck. He finally calmed down, and I thought he had realized I was there to make him feel better. But when I stroked his face, I realized he’d passed out.

I’ll admit I panicked. I wasn’t as cool and collected as I thought I’d be in a situation like that. I tried to climb out of bed, but my foot got caught in his stupid comforter. Then Brad woke up and screamed. That scared me, so I screamed too. His parents burst into the room and flipped on the lights. They immediately came to the totally wrong assumption about what was going on. His mom came at me, yelling at me to get off her son. Talk about a momma’s boy, huh?

Well, I was trying to get my foot free from his comforter, and it came loose while I was pulling it hard. My foot went flying right into Brad’s mom’s face. It knocked her out cold, but I swear it was an accident. His dad went rushing to check on his wife, and I took that opportunity to grab my clothes and run. It was so cold outside, I couldn’t keep going while half-naked. Luckily, he lives near the forest, and I was able to duck behind some trees to get back into my really cute outfit that was completely wasted.

After getting home, I was pretty worried I’d hear the police knock on the front door at any moment. They never came though. I was terrified going to school the next morning, since I figured Brad would confront me in front of all our classmates. When I got to my Honors American Lit class, he was sitting in his assigned seat right next to me. I sat down at my desk, and he turned to look at me, his eyes making direct contact with mine. Then he said, “Hey Dana, can I borrow a pencil?”

First of all, my name’s not Dana. It’s not even close to Dana. I figured he was playing mind games with me, trying to get me to crack under the pressure. I held firm, giving him a smile and handing him the pencil. At the end of class, I saw another student go up to him in the hallway. The other student said he’d heard some crazy girl broke into his house and tried to have her way with him. Ignoring the fact that this wasn’t even close to what really happened, Brad was like, “Yeah, it was nuts. She scissor-kicked my mom in the face and ran out in her underwear!”

The other kid asked who this girl was. I was standing right there. I was frozen in fear, knowing that at any moment, he would turn and point at me. Instead, he shook his head and said, “No idea. Maybe she escaped from the looney bin or something.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. But then I thought that maybe that’s what he wanted. He was trying to force me to confess. I had no intention of breaking though. I held firm and kept my mouth shut. The worst part came that evening. Courtney called me and told me that after our little misunderstanding at his house, he called her in a panic. She went over to comfort him, and they ended up getting back together. Ugh!

At this point, it’s like, what do I even have to do to get his attention? I was right on top of him and he still can’t remember who I am! Is he even worth it anymore? Are any boys worth it? Maybe I should just forget about them altogether. But here’s the craziest part of this whole story: all this time, I bet you’ve been picturing me as a teenage girl. Well, you’re wrong! I’m actually a hamster!

–An Unfunny Prick

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Dear “An Unfunny Prick,”

This is the eighth or nineth time I’ve received a submission like this from you. In every single one of them, you pretend to be a high school girl who ends up in a zany, mildly inappropriate situation, only to include the oh-so-clever zinger at the end of actually being some sort of rodent. I decided to finally use one of your letters so the world can see how sick and disgusting you really are.

I normally don’t reveal any personal information from the submissions that aren’t in the letters themselves. In this case, I feel it would be a public service to tell everyone in town who you really are. So Emerson Valley, allow me to introduce you to Eddie Forsythe. He’s a 26-year-old loser who lives in his mother’s basement and gets his kicks by writing letters pretending to be a 16-year-old girl.

For anyone interested, he began this campaign of idiocy after Eddie approached me at a bar when I was there for a bachelorette party. He recognized me from my column and said he read it all the time. Then he asked to buy me a drink, and I politely turned him down. This made him really mad, but he didn’t have the guts to say or do anything in such a public place. Instead, he went home to his mother’s basement and began his letter writing campaign. I got the first of these “prank” submissions the next day.

Eddie, get a life. No woman is ever going to want you. Stop trying to impress people by telling them your grandfather is Stanley Forsythe. He was the one who was a famous writer, not you. Nobody cares about that connection if you haven’t done anything notable yourself. Actually, forget notable—just do anything that takes you outside your gremlin hole. Are you happy now? Your letter’s been published in a Dear Libby article. Now stop sending me emails!

–Lovingly, Libby