You're 12 years old and nothing seems to stay the same. Everything's moving… people, places, things… never slowing to a speed that allows for any form of a detail to be noticed. Or so it seems. The brain is crammed with multiple overloads of information from every direction, all being sorted and categorized and, hopefully, to some extent, remembered.
But one thing's for sure: there's hair growing in new places where hair was undeniably absent. You're not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. If it's not on your head, what's it for? What's going on? Such an unprecedented discovery sometimes leads to unusual, imagination-fueled, sometimes frightening thoughts: I probably have some strange unknown disease from the creek water I was told not to drink the other day on my way home from the playground? If you were anything like me you tend to incriminate yourself first.
And then, there's acne... but we won't get into that right now.
As I begin the first read-through I feel like I'm reading the diary that I never kept as a twelve-year-old, but wish I had.
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