It had been six weeks since the Miss Hairspray Pageant, and the same amount of time since Tracy had started going steady with Link. For the first few days of the relationship, Tracy had seemed confident and self-assured, as she always had. She had told me how happy she was, how in love. But lately, she said, she had been noticing other girls. Watching their thin frames prance by, she had begun to compare herself to them, to wonder why Link had chosen her. She had taken to standing in front of the mirror and, as I looked on, pointing out every single thing she disliked about her appearance, which was pretty much everything. She had also picked up the habit of taking a razorblade to her left wrist, then covering it with bracelets so no one would see.

Whenever she left the classroom for more than five minutes, I went after her. More often than not I found her seated on a toilet in the end stall, blade in hand. This was how I found her today.

Tracy? I said softly. Let me in please…

I heard the lock scrape, and with difficulty I entered the tiny stall. I knelt before her, my feet sticking back out from under the door. I stared at her. She avoided my eyes, opting instead to gaze vaguely in the direction of the wall.

Tracy, this is the third time this week…

She didn't speak. I reached out and took the blade gently from her fingers. Setting it down on the floor, I took her left hand, peering at the ruined skin of her wrist. Still healing cuts were crisscrossed with fresh, bloody gashes.

Jesus, Tracy; how deep did you go this time? I asked worriedly, taking yet another handkerchief from my pocket and pressing it against the wounds.

Not that deep. Her voice was soft and far away. I lifted my eyes to hers, searching for that fire that I had always loved about her, that Link loved about her. But her eyes were unfocused and misty; all I could see was her self pity.

One of these times you're going to go too deep. What then, Tracy? I took her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. Do you expect me too look into your mother's eyes and explain that her only daughter, her baby girl, was trying to take her own life?

She dropped her gaze to the bloodied handkerchief that I had tied around her wrist, and her lip began to tremble. She held her head in her hands and grunted in frustration as she fought back the torrent of salt that threatened to spill forth. She grabbed handfuls of her hair and pulled as hard as she could without ripping it out.

What triggered it this time? She scoffed at my question, shaking her head.

I saw him looking at one of the council girls. He was just staring at her, watching her every move; he was smiling. She growled and shook her head, then gestured at the razorblade on the floor. It's all I can think to do.

Tracy, there are other things you can do…

It's the first thing that comes to mind.

Nothing else comes to mind?

Murder does…

Tracy…

I know, I know. I've tried screaming into a pillow, but all it does is make my throat hurt.

I have an idea.

What is it?

Write.

What?

Write. Write words, sentences, poems, songs, letters, whatever. Let everything flow from your mind onto the paper.

How can that help?

It will help to get some of the extra feelings and thoughts out of your head, so you don't feel so overwhelmed.

Hm…

Will you try it? When you get back to class, just write down every single thing that's in your head? Tracy considered.

Please? It will help, I promise. She nodded reluctantly. I returned my eyes to the handkerchief around her wrist and sighed. I pushed myself to my feet and opened the stall door, beckoning for Tracy to follow. She took the hand that I offered and we made our way to the sinks. She attempted to untie the handkerchief, but succeeded only in frustrating herself again.

Here, I took her hand, wincing as I peeled the bloodied cloth from her damaged skin. I turned the faucet on, letting warm water flow over the cuts. I dabbed at the wounds with paper towels, drying them. I pulled from my pocket the small roll of gauze that I had taken to carrying around since I discovered Tracy's habit and used my pocketknife to cut a length of it. She held out her wrist, and I wrapped it tightly.

Tracy replaced the clunky costume bracelets and shook them, seeing how much of the gauze they covered. It turned out to be a good amount, but the white cloth was still visible. She frowned, and I had an idea. I untied my sweater from around my waist and handed it to her. The hem reached halfway to her knees, but the sleeves were long. She rolled them up just enough to be able to use her hands.

Come on, I took her hand again. There was a fair amount of banging and yelling going on outside the door; I had locked it. I unlocked the door, and a small wave of agitated girls flowed in. We slipped out and made our way down the hall back to our classroom. Before entering, she turned to me.

Thank you, Penny. We entered the classroom.