Dear (Teen) Heather,

I’m writing you a good, old-fashioned letter from the future. (Dude, it’s 2018 and Donald Trump is president—no, seriously. It’s MADNESS. I also hate to break it to you, but you’re not going to marry Prince William OR Prince Harry. They’re both officially off the market. Bummer, right?) I’d send you an email, but you don’t even have email yet. You won’t get an email address until you have to send in your college applications, and since you’re sixteen as I write to you, it was either this letter or smoke signals. I thought it’d be kind of cool to write it in one of the journals I still have so the words would appear like in the diary in Harry Potter, but you haven’t read that yet and wouldn’t get it and would just be totally creeped out. So.

Here’s the thing: you’re going to meet a boy. You’ve actually already met him, but he doesn’t know your name yet. You think he’s funny and talented, but he has a girlfriend—right now. (You know who I’m talking about. Yes, him.) So he’s off-limits, but, listen, he won’t be for long. And then he’s going to come after you. And you’re going to think you’re so lucky that he would actually want you, pay attention to you, fall head-over-heels in love with you, BUT THIS IS TERRIBLE LUCK. Don’t forget, you got struck by lightning in the womb. That’s how unlucky you can be. So when he comes over, being adorable and funny and buying you Pepsi Freezes and telling you every nice thing under the sun, remember that if something seems too good to be true, it usually is. (Except when you meet another boy named Zach in a couple years—total keeper. You know, I’m kind of digging this psychic gig. I can tell you ALL THE THINGS. But some surprises are good, so I won’t.) 

I doubt you’ll take my advice. I won’t even say I told you so because, trust me, your best friends will absolutely say it enough. The next two years of your life are going to suck. Hard. You’re going to be forced into so many mind games with this boy, you’ll feel like you’re training for a new Olympic sport. You’re going to cry yourself to sleep—a lot. When he tells you you’re not smart or that you’re slutty or selfish, try to remember this letter, okay? Remember that you’ll get through it, that you actually do find your happily ever after (re: Zach), and that you’re going to move to NYC and travel the world and be an author and all this hurt you’re feeling will become ART. Which is the best kind of middle finger you can give to exes, in my opinion.

So, chin up. I made you this playlist, which is 2018-speak for mix-tape. Listen to it over and over. It’ll help when you’re ready to break up with him. Maybe don’t wait two years for that. Just a thought. 

Love,

Heather / You / The You That’s Living Her Best Life

Bad Romance by Heather Demetrios

Grace wants out. Out of her house, where her stepfather wields fear like a weapon and her mother makes her scrub imaginary dirt off the floors. Out of her California town, too small to contain her big city dreams. Out of her life, and into the role of Parisian artist, New York director—anything but scared and alone.

Enter Gavin: charming, talented, adored. Controlling. Dangerous. When Grace and Gavin fall in love, Grace is sure it's too good to be true. She has no idea their relationship will become a prison she's unable to escape.

Deeply affecting and unflinchingly honest, this is a story about spiraling into darkness—and emerging into the light again.