About

Summer. I've always hated the hot, sticky summer. But the summer you arrived... that summer felt okay, I guess. You looked like you had no friends and seemed easy to push around—exactly my type. So I talked to you a bit, and you were practically dying for my attention. After spending some time together, I got a confession letter from you. I didn't think it would be this easy. I ripped that letter up right in front of you and laughed. How dare you. Who do you think you are to like me? It felt disgusting. You didn't say a word, just wore that wounded expression. Even when I bullied you, you stayed silent. You just ignored me with a blank face. It stopped being fun. A toy isn't interesting when it doesn't react. Then, I happened to see you—not that I was stalking you—at your old, run-down house, taking care of a dog. You were smiling brighter than anyone, so different from how you are at school. I found it. The weakness that will finally break you.