"No."

"Your majesty, the Weekly has done some extensive research regarding the topic of the palace's social and romantic history, as we find many readers interested in what goes on behind closed doors up on the lofty hill. We have reason to believe that Mr. Greene and Mr. Flowers may not have been the first of their kind. I take it you are familiar with the princes of Opali?"

"I have not verified or denied any of the allegations you have stated on Mr. Greene or Mr. Flowers, so I must wonder at what 'their kind' should mean."

She ignores me, "Just this morning we were notified that there may have been another in the picture: a Prince Kane Blaize Calloway of Opali."

I don't respond; I'm too busy trying to figure out how anyone could find out. I burned the letters we had sent back and forth. I destroyed any evidence of our relationship that extended beyond dancing at exactly three People's Balls. There were several press-ready photos published of us I couldn't scourge, as well as several guards, butlers, and maids I had to bribe for silence. Kane did the same. And we went our separate ways. For almost two years I haven't seen him or spoken with him, or touched him, or been allowed to be near him.

That is, except for once.

"And what makes you think the Prince and I were involved?" I ask.

"Eyewitness account of a certain birthday celebration that you must have been quite excited for," Ms. Day smiles kindly, yet sinisterly.

"Happy Birthday, your highness." I said stiffly. This was a formal greeting between two acquaintances, allies, but nothing more.

"Thank you kindly, Princess." He nodded.

I couldn't help but look at his eyes, his hands, his shoulders, his hair. Kane. My Kane. His metal arm had changed since I had last seen him, and was now donning several engravings, sort of like tattoos on metal. His sleeve was cut off at the shoulder, showing off his whole prosthetic. I saw a series of dates, a sword, and...

How could anyone expect me to fall out of love with him? With the letters M.E.L. in fancy script on his arm, a swooping underline engraved to emphasize the monogram.

I ended up, somehow, in a secluded corner of a room full of extra tables and chairs, curled into his lap, his arms around me, my head on his shoulder, my arms around his torso and neck, eyes closed. My lipstick had left a small mark on his mouth I could wipe off, but I had somehow missed the nickel-sized bruise on my neck. As it turned out, someone needed extra chairs during the gathering, and the servant who came to retrieve them was very surprised to find us saying our goodbyes there. Two and two were put together, and our fathers were notified before I could stop the servant.

Being female kinda stinks for a lot of reasons.

1) We get paid less

2) .

3) People expect more

4) We’re written off as overly emotional if we so much as state our opinions

5) Speaking of our opinions, people have a hard time wanting to hear them

6) pregnancies

7) There are people in the world who will read this and think I’m an idiotic FemiNazi.

I was assigned female at birth and I identify as female but it kind of stinks.

So I'm asking for these entries cause I like to sing and I was thinking I could record myself singing all of the entries and maybe get you guys a link so you can hear your songs but it's all very tentative and it's just a maybe so just have fun writing your songs :)!!

—AlliWrites

"You keep on expecting all this great stuff from me, mother, but I'm just me! You can't expect anything more than that! I don't care what my brothers did! Can't you just let me be me?" She finally admits to her mother, solemnly stating the truth she has hidden for years that she has been to afraid to speak.

"I always knew you had a crush on her. I just held out hope that you would return to me. But you broke my heart. So, I'm sorry. Sorry I ever trusted you." She silently texts to the boy that broke her heart, finally being brave enough to speak her mind.

"I don't care that you think I'm pretty. It doesn't matter that I know it's not true. It matters that you're teaching young girls that appearances are the only thing that matter." She blurts out one day, at last letting people know her thoughts.

You see, the opposite of me is someone who speaks their thoughts without regard for what people will think. I am a coward. But I will be cowardly no more. One day, alas, I will speak.

The sky used to be blue, they say. Needless to say, now it's... not.

The sky is yellow from decades of smog and pollution, much of which was there before I was even born.

Mami used to sing a song—

Blue Skies, Skies of blue,

Look there with me,

look there with you,

Can you see?

The yellow skies too?

All We can see is Yellow and blue.

What I would give to hear her sing it again...

Mami is gone, and all we can see is Yellow too.

Strep throat.

Thats who I have to thank for my best friend.

Picture this: lil' pale blonde girl steps into the doorway of a colorful Pre-k classroom, filled with screaming kids and friends.

She doesn't pay attention as the teacher explains all that she's missed the first three days of school.

She glanced around the room, her eyes flitting from one person to the next.

A little boy yanks a toy truck off a shelf, shouting at his friends.

Another child makes little noises at the class guinea pig, his friend next to him laughing, doing the Same.

A girl bossily instructs another on the proper way to swaddle a babydoll.

A little boy with blonde hair chases a girl around the classroom, both giggling uncontrollably.

Her eyes finally settle on one girl in particular. She's sitting alone at a table, a mound of play-dog shaped like a bunny rabbit in her hands, her curly auburn hair hanging in her face, her hazel eyes trained attentively on her creation.

The little girl who has missed many friendships formed has found maybe the last child without a friend. She has heard from her brothers many times about the dangers of not finding a friend by the first week. She confidently strutted over to the lonely girl, hunched over the table. She plops herself down and with the tone of the confidence of a thousand queens, she states, "I'm Alli. Are we best friends now?"

I trudged through the school's hallways. It was way to earky for this.

How had I ended up in the situation, alone in my old middle school at four in the morning?

Great question. See, I don't know the answer.

They told me to. I was fine with it. Now it seems like less of a good idea.

You see, my little brother has this guy who is constantly picking on him. Like, full on abusing the poor kid.

I was going to get him back.

I regret telling my friends.

They persuaded me. Now here I am, a bag full of all sorts of stuff hanging on my shoulder.

The door's unlocked. Jaime made sure of that. Clarissa's job was the alarm system. Mai's job was stalling the principal, who insisted on showing up three hours early at this ungodly hour for no reason. James had been chosen to create a large distraction. I'm not sure what I'm waiting for, but Louis should send a signal when it's time to go in. Any second, any second.

BRIIIIIING!

The school bell goes off. God, that alarm brings back painful memories

That's gotta be the signal, just has to be. I carefully shove open the door, trying not to make a sound.

Just a few short hours later, I'm arriving to my own school day, more tired and dead than the average high school student.

My phone lets out the little PING! sound.

Glancing down, I see a text from my brother.

"You'll never guess what happened this morning..."

It's simple.

the farmer had a dog named bingo.

b-I-n-g-o

butter finger tootsie roll

icey icey Oreo

he stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni

shush hon that's how it goes