Part one

Raya knew she should break it up, she knew that Willow should know about Zach. But they seemed so happy together, especially as Willow floated down the aisle her rosy face beaming with joy, and her shiny black hair pulled into an Elsa braid over her lacy white wedding dress. I could see the love in her eyes as she looked at her soon to be husband, and I knew in that moment, that the time to decide had come.

Part Two

When Raya and I were 13, we decided we were going to start our very own club. We would meet in the tree house in my backyard, and we would ALWAYS have candy at our meetings. But then the question came, what would our club be about. We both knew that there were 2 unspoken requirements for our club theme. First: it had to be something we both loved, and second: it had to be something that the popular group HATED.

Part Three

Around 2nd grade, I’m not sure exactly what age I was, I moved from my small town of Providence, Rhode Island, to the much larger city of Los Angeles, California. So, the dreaded day came when I had to be the new kid at a new school. Even at the young age of six or seven, I knew that untold horrors were a high possibility when it came to the circumstance I was in. I came up with a plan. The plan was simple: don’t stand out. When I walked through the doors of my new elementary school in my gray jeans and black hoodie, I kept my head down low, and looked at no one, as I hurried along the route I had memorized to my classroom. I slipped into the seat labeled with “Kylee Green” and pulled out my book, burying my nose in hopes that everyone would leave me alone. It took approximately 2 seconds for my hope to be squashed. “Hellllooooo” greeted a voice right in front of me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I lowered my only social defense to find a pair of deep brown eyes staring at me. “Hi” I squeaked out. “Who. Are. You?” She asked, clipping each word in a goofily low voice. “I’m” I started, but stopped, clearing the squeak from my voice. “I’m Kylee” I tried again, slouching lower in my seat. “I’m Raya! What are you reading about?” She wondered, no longer using her ridiculous choppy tone. “The witch burning of 1692.”