When I was in high school, I had a solid group of friends. We played volleyball together and spent nearly every moment of every day together. We were inseparable. The only time we were ever really forced to part ways was during classes. Normally however, we were blessed to always have at least one or two of each other in our same classes.

Our junior year, we got especially close. But our different class schedules no longer allowed us to spend every waking moment attached at the hip. To help us stay updated with each other’s lives, we started a journal. I still remember the five of us running into Barnes and Noble’s and spending way too long trying to pick the perfect one. Finally after loads of bickering and goofing off, we decided on a black, hard-cover journal. We then went to Chick-Fil-A and on the first page we wrote down the rules of our new book. We agreed on a time limit that we were each allowed to keep the journal, as well as the amount that we were required to write, and lastly we established the order in which we rotated possession. Then, one by one, we began writing in it. With each entry we covered the front of the book with stickers and cutouts that represented each of us. At first, the entries started with mundane things, like worrying if we were going to have a Valentine or complaining about volleyball practice. But the more we wrote and the more we rotated, the more we relied on that book to release the things that really mattered to us. We talked about family problems, relationships, and our insecurities. That book became a source of support for each of us, where we were able to say all the things that were just too hard to say aloud. The journal brought us closer in more ways than we thought possible.

But not everyone was a fan of the book. Soon, rumors started to spread around the school about “the book that a few of the volleyball players were passing around”. The words “burn book” started to get thrown back and forth. People didn’t believe that the book was made to show support for one another, but rather they thought it was a secret way for us to insult and bash those around us. The more people talked, the more secretive we felt we needed to be.

“Just let me read one page.”

“If you’re not hiding anything, then why can’t anyone else read it?”

Soon some kids at school decided it was necessary to mention the journal to their parents, and those parents, who felt their kids were being victimized (?????) by our journal felt the need to report it to the school administration.

Around the same time, the five of us began receiving texts from an anonymous texter that knew our every step. We felt like we were being watched, and we began to get paranoid. The texter knew where we were at all times, as well as personal details about each one of us. As the school investigated our book, the texts grew more and more frequent and also more threatening. Our journal was confiscated and all of our secrets, hopes, and insecurities were to be read by a stranger. I remember feeling so vulnerable and exposed. I felt like everyone knew about everything that was happening and as we walked down the halls it felt like everyone was staring. Our volleyball coach told us we’d be lucky if we didn’t end up on the local news and that we brought shame to our school and organization. (It never got even close to going that far). We felt like we couldn’t trust anybody, and that everyone was against us.

Eventually we got our journal back and since there wasn’t anything mean in it about any of our fellow classmates, we got the AP (Assistant Principal) stamp of approval. We were banned from bringing it back on campus for the rest of the year, due to it “being a distraction” and “upsetting other students”. The anonymous texter ended up being one of our good friends, who was just trying to play a silly prank on us, and picked an unfortunate time to do so. We never shook the reputation of having a burn book though. For the rest of high school, we were considered a “clique,” and no matter what we said, no one believed our story.

After graduation, we decided to bury the journal. We buried it deep in a place that meant something to each of us, and we agreed that at our ten year class reunion we would reunite and read it again together. Despite what everyone said, we knew what that journal really was and how much it meant to each of us. Despite everything there’s no denying what that journal did for our friendship, even if it did kill our reputations.