The Perks of Being a Wallflower: Part 4–Epilogue

It’s like looking at all the students and wondering who’s had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report on top of that.

Kids working behind the counters of the food places who looked like they hadn’t had the will to live for hours. The machines kept opening and closing. The people kept giving money and getting their change. And it all felt very unsettling to me.

When she saw me approaching the group, her face went “ashen.” It was almost like she didn’t want to remember what she was like twelve months ago, and she certainly didn’t want the boys to know that she knew me and used to be my friend.

He says the best thing to do is find a lucky penny when you’re with someone and give the other person the good luck. He believes in karma.

I wasn’t close enough to really see him, but I didn’t want to interfere with his personal time, so I didn’t walk up to him.

It’s kind of eerie when a whole room gets quiet at once, and then the real noise starts.

“So, Parker and Lily come up here one night. And they are so in love! He even gave her his thespian pin or something.”

“NO!” was all I could really say.
“YES!” was Patrick’s rebuttal.

“She was the valedictorian. And everyone knew it when she went up to give her speech!”

He kept talking about how the designated hitter in baseball was bad and why basketball was a commercial success and what teams looked promising in college football.

When he gave me the book, Bill said, “Be skeptical about this one. It’s a great book. But try to be a filter, not a sponge.”

My sister is going to a “small liberal arts college back East” called Sarah Lawrence.

But it wasn’t like you had to really search for the philosophy. It was pretty straightforward, I thought, and the great part is that I took what the author wrote about and put it in terms of my own life.

My sister’s boyfriend showed up in his Buick, and he was wearing a white “tails” coat over a black suit, which looked wrong for some reason. His “cumberbunn” (I don’t know how to spell this) matched my sister’s dress, which was powder blue and low-cut.

He was still seething, so he “vented” about Craig.

When we finished, we looked at the bus driver for a tense second. Then, we all laughed because we knew we could get in trouble for swearing, but the strength of our numbers would prevent any retribution.

He also smiled different and was more “courteous.”

And maybe I’m biased, but when my sister quoted a pop song and talked about the future, it seemed great.

Then, Mr. Small got up on the stage and asked everyone to refrain from applause until all the names were read and all the diplomas were handed out.

So, I just opened my locker, put all my old papers and things in my backpack, and walked over the debris of books and papers and notes in the hallway to the parking lot outside.

And nobody felt sad as long as we could postpone tomorrow with more nostalgia.

It’s like all I can do is keep writing this gibberish to keep from breaking apart.

And even though I didn’t know you, I felt like I did because you sounded like such a good person. The kind of person who wouldn’t mind receiving letters from a kid. The kind of person who would understand how they were better than a diary because there is communion and a diary can be found.

They told me I didn’t speak or acknowledge anyone for a week.

And really, I don’t think I have it any better or worse than she does. I don’t know. It’s just different. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there.