Going through my closet recently, I came across a fantastic, nostalgic piece: my diary from age 12-­‐13. I filled the diary with a story called Ted, Fred and Alakazam, in the hopes of publishing it one day. Here I am, more than 10 years later, revamping my diary in the hopes of inspiring teenagers. I am finally accomplishing my dream! I’m twelve. My friends call me Guillaume Levinsky, likely after the name of a law firm in my neighborhood. My parents call me something different, something generic, so let’s go with Guillaume, Guill for short. I’m at the peak of my pubescence and my thoughts are weird beyond weird. Maybe you can relate, but I bet I’m weirder than you. I am the live in the moment type as well as the jump to conclusions and it often gets me into trouble. For example, I assume my life is over because the boy I like is mad at me, or I’ll never talk to that friend again for what she did. Sure these feelings may last several days or weeks or months, but in no way shape or form do they last forever. I’m the third tallest person in grade 7 and yes, the two taller than me are girls. I’ve always been jealous of the tiny shrimps who got to sit in the first row on picture day. All the boys in the grade are shorter than me, but that doesn’t stop me from developing major crushes on them. In addition to my height, I’m overweight; I have acne, and a major sweat pit problem, which I refer to as “S.W.” It’s super embarrassing and forces me to wear black clothing, sweatshirts or jackets in the spring heat. Double the sweat. Additionally, I’m pretty developed for my age; I have the second biggest boobs in the grade. I live in suburbia, meaning that all the houses in in my neighborhood are exact replicas of each other. There is also an extreme lack of culture, and you have to drive everywhere! It can get pretty boring, although I am very attached to my house. Until recently, my room was painted with polka dots and I had a matching bedspread to go with it. I have a brother, he’s annoying and my slave. I don’t really get along with my parents and I am embarrassed to be seen in public with them. At school, I am good at spelling, and my favorite subject is English. I suck in math and science so much that I need a tutor. My grades aren’t that great. The principal of my school is a serious disbeliever in the concept “midriff”, but shouts the word multiple times a day. She frequently checks to see if our shirts meet our pants, and that our tank top straps are no less than 3 fingers wide. Even if your midriff peeked out for the few seconds while you stretched, you were done. You would be forced to wear an oversized nightshirt for the remainder of the day. This also meant you were a bit of a rebel. My best friend is usually Abbe (aka Abz). In fact, it was with her that I was able to rediscover my diary. I say that we are usually best friends because although we’ve been BFF (best friends forever) since the second grade, there may be a year that we

are not in the same class, which puts a strain on our friendship. Worse yet, she gets taken away by Bean Friendstealer (another girl and also the tallest person in our grade). Abbe and I met one winter day during recess. Two loners became one. We were sliding on the ice on the terrain de l’ouest (the west field), which was strictly forbidden, when we slid across and into each other. We decided to give each other a shot and the rest is history. Abbe was also Russian (ruski) although she spoke the language and I did not. We both badly wanted a biteplate, and spent most of our class time making fake biteplates using gum and the metal part of twist ties. Our dads had the same name, and most importantly, we were both in love with the same boy. Abbe and I even had our own secret way of saying “I love you” to each other; 9l0. We were like-­‐minded in many ways, Abbe and I. We both believe in preserving the past, and we even built a time capsule with special items. We buried it in Abbe’s backyard and recently attempted to dig it up. Unfortunately to no avail. Abbe recently moved so we hope that our time capsule is still there, preserving our precious secrets. Originally, I advise a platinum rule: “don’t ever tell someone you love them when you don’t mean it, say what you mean and be real.” Thinking back, I definitely did NOT follow this rule. I claimed to ‘love’ up to 4 people at once at one point in my life. Truth is, I think that I am an all-­‐knowing, psychic power possessing person, but I’m glad to report that I’m so wrong. In this book, I share with you my inner-­‐most thoughts, secrets and dreams. My experiences, struggles and crushes in the hope that you too can live with me and overcome your own teenage fears. I encourage you to use this story as a journal in the hopes that you too can write your own life story!