Message, Copy, Paste, Repeat.

After waiting for so long to use instant messaging, I'd made a terrible mistake.

The day after that mishap, I'd walked into school, oblivious about the train that was going to slam into me.

A girl I had never talked to before in my life, from the fifth grade, asked excitedly. "Is it true?"

I'd stared blankly. "I'm sorry?"

"That you're in love with Derrick Cutter?"

I'd blinked. And blinked again. I hadn't imagined it -the girl was still standing there- and her words bounced through my skull, like a game of pong.

The bell had rung and I'd been mercifully saved. I'd rushed into my classroom and sat down in my assigned seat. No one had paid me any mind, and slowly I started to believe I'd imagined it.

Ms. Albanese had spoken loudly for order, and class had begun.

Just when I'd thought I'd escaped my mistake, the paper notes began to be passed around.

I knew they were writing about me. I could just feel it, just like the stares directed my way. No one said a word to me about it. Not to my face, anyway.

Odd, seeing as bullying me was one of their favorite pastimes.

My best friends assured me that it would all blow over by that night. I'd asked them how they'd found out about my secret. They'd already known, but admitted to being shocked about what I'd written. Apparently the copied text of my username said much more than the innocence of my profession of love.

I'd asked them to tell me. They'd replied that they'd rather that I read it with my own eyes. Every part of my skin crawled. It must be bad if they couldn't say it.

I'd gotten home that day and had pushed my younger sister Jenny off of the computer, desperate to see the forwarded e-mail.

This caused us to get into a physical altercation, which then caused my mom to limit our time to an hour.

AOL had betrayed me, once again.

After Jenny got back onto the computer I had nothing else to do, but wait.

The hour ticked on slowly and I could see my sister playing some game where you could dress up dolls. I was so mad. I couldn't call anyone, either. One phone line meant it was either the internet or the phone.

I was stuck. My mind ran rampant with what I would see. When Jenny finally had her time end and she spun in the office chair for an extra five minutes to taunt me, I signed on.

My fingers flew over the keyboard, entering my password, and then tapping, waiting for the internet to kick in.

I'd skipped the "you've got mail" and gone straight to the mailbox. Clicking it open, I saw the bold lettering of unopened emails. Two were from my best friends Leanne and Susan. The other two were junk email.

I clicked the first and saw the red and blue username colors. I scrolled down to the part where I screwed up, and read through it. And read through it again. And again.

When I recovered from my shock, my first thought was, I didn't write this. But there it was-next to my username- the vulgarity and brazen words towards the boy that I liked.

I knew it wasn't what I said because for one, I didn't swear, and two, I had no idea what any of those sexual innuendos were.

I opened the next e-mail and discovered that the same thing had happened, but much more detailed.

My little, naive world had been shattered. Did you know that your words can be changed? I didn't. I'd thought it was like a conversation face to face. I'd been wrong.

These were lies; all of them, being circulated.

People were changing what I'd said and made it creepy-- and not appropriate for anyone. My mom took my shocked state to read over my shoulder, her eyes reading exactly what mine had.

And just like the other classmates, she believed what she'd read.

I lost more than my trust in instant messaging that day. I'd lost my internet privileges.

She'd blocked me, and I'd joined the dark age, once again.