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can add to my profile. It’s torture. Overprotective parents really know how to make life hell.
    The good part of my obsession is that I am getting into excellent shape by walking to the library. It is almost three miles from our house, with several hills thrown in for good measure. I don’t have to walk both ways. I walk there and then go to Gram’s after, and my mom picks me up on her way back from her errands. For her part, she’s delighted that I am interested in “getting exercise” and is already offering to take me to the outlets for new school clothes because she is sure my old ones will be “hanging off me” by the fall. “No more big sweatshirts for you,” she keeps saying. She isn’t thrilled about having to see my grandmother so frequently, but she knows it is her daughter-in-law duty.
    The worst part about walking to the library is the catcalls and other taunts from people driving by. Apparently it is unusual to be a pedestrian around this town, and people in cars get endless entertainment out of seeing someone walking. Creepy old guys whistle, and fellow teenagers jeer about my lack of wheels. But when I’m walking, I’m on a mission. I need to go see how my online life is shaping up.
    So far I have a budding friendship with fellow Wilson High newbie Missy Howston. She’s one of the ones who friended me back when I first set the account up, and we have a lot in common. Both of us have moved around a lot because of our dads’ jobs, both of us are applying to prestigious, selective colleges, and both of us have thus far found high school to be a cold, unwelcoming place. While I’m into the arts and humanities, Missy is interested in sciences, but we both are good students with hefty loads of AP classes, so I can forgive her for being more interested in molecules than sonnets. So far I’ve kept my growing friendship with Missy limited to conversations via Facebook. She suggested IM, but how would I explain to my parents who I was talking to all the time? I never leave the house without at least one of my parents except to go to the library, so I’d have to come up with some kind of fantastic lie to explain my new friend. Besides, we’ll see each other face to face in a few weeks when school starts.
    Most people from Wilson High have accepted my friend requests but then they just let me languish in their long lists of friends. Not many have bothered to reject me, which is nice—I mean, no one likes to get rejected, even on Facebook. And the great thing is that even if people who have friended me don’t post things on my wall or stuff like that, I get to see everyone’s status updates. I am suddenly informed of all the social happenings of my school. That is a new experience. Whenever someone posts something interesting in their status update, I check out their profile and see what else I can discover. In an excellent turn of events someone started sending around a note called “25 Random Things About Me.” Basically everyone just makes a list of random things and then they ask friends to post their random things. I can read all about my new classmates. When I walk into school the first day, I will know the faces and interests of tons of people. It’s bizarre.
    Last week, after a hot and sweaty trek to the library, I logged on to discover that Missy had posted her 25 random things, and she had tagged me to do the same. I wasn’t sure about this. Posting something for everyone to read—wouldn’t people think that was dorky? Then again, everyone else was doing it, too. I couldn’t handle whipping up a list right then and there off the top of my head. If I’m going to create a list, I want it to be good. Most people’s lists are trite and boring—favorite color, favorite movie, things like that. I want my list to stand out. I want to create a list that makes me seem smart, funny, witty, poetic. I want people to read it and like me.
    I spent an entire week contemplating my list. I actually