It's late, I'm tired, and Jonathan is a frustrating little man.

Jonathan... his feelings for me seem swing back and forth from apathy to wild enthusiasm, which is extremely frustrating. Does he want me to talk to him, like I did during the band's third quarter break at the football game on Friday, where his whole face just lit up? Or does he want me to leave him alone, like I did on the bus trip to Forrest City Marching Invitational on Saturday, where all his responses to me were impassive and monosyllabic?

At least he's not mean. He has never said a hateful word to me, though I have attacked him several times.

Baby steps. We are heading toward something more, but in baby steps. And considering the past, that's pretty good.

Band is good, too. Better than good, actually, now that we have proven that we are the best small band in the state. Nettleton was for a long time, and they thought it was a fluke when we beat them at the Arkansas Open last year. In fact, now they're refusing to go the contest this year. But we beat them for Best in Class again yesterday... so hah. We've gotten Best in Class at both of the competitions we've been to, out of sixteen bands in the first, and against Nettleton and Bald Knob (plus a few others, but they aren't serious competition) in the second one. Yeah, we're good.

Mother and one of her friends had a yardsale while I was gone yesterday. I gave her some of my old stuff to sell, but she won't give me the money she got for it. This is not fair. I need money; I have about fifty cents to my name at the moment. If I'd had money I could have joined the band's post-victory celebration at McDonald's, but as it was I sat alone on the bus wishing Jonathan would have gone home with us instead of his mother (he had to get to work) and scratching at my arm with a pin I'd taken off my backpack.

Bad bad bad. I haven't done anything like that in over a year.

I was upset. I wanted Jonathan, but he wasn't there, and Jeremy wouldn't move his horn so I could sit with him. He doesn't even like his mellophone.

I don't know. I don't want to think about it. I hate being dependent on people who don't always care about me. I hate it when they hurt me. I hate it when I hurt myself.