Ask Whitney

prologue

"How do I make my boyfriend look at me the way he looks at Leanne Montana?"

Holly read over the words on the screen carefully, scrunching her nose at the question. It had just been a few weeks since she started this ASK WHITNEY blog and many students from her school and around town had been writing her for advice.

She could tell that this question, in particular, was from her school. Leanne Montana was the typical eye candy of any high school. Long seemingly perfect blonde hair, killer smile, cheerleader and a little bit of a bitch. Everyone hated her, everyone wanted to be her. All that cliché shit.

A huff left Holly's lips as she began to type back.

"Dump him. Let him weigh his chances with Leanne and you find yourself a better man."

The advice Holly left behind was blunt but never rude. She wanted people to actually take her advice instead of wondering what she meant with her vague sentences. She wasn't a fortune cookie, she was there to help.

Continuing to scroll through the unanswered questions on her screen, one just happened to catch her eye. It was long and its contents were more serious than the how do I get my hair to stay upright throughout the day. She clicked on it, making more words appear.

"Dear Whitney of Ask Whitney:

I have recently found out some life shattering bad news about my mother. A few years ago I found out that my parents were getting a divorce. Which kinda bummed me out but not all that much. Mother took it harder than I did, considering she was in love with the guy and he turned out to be a no good lying cheater who is unbelievably incapable of keeping his junk in his pants... – I digress. On to the bad news, my mother has taken quite a liking to some liquid comfort, if you catch my drift. She's been an alcoholic since the day she signed the papers. Now I'm finding out her liver caught some cancer. I don't mean to bum you out, but I'm kinda sitting here in my room thinking about everything and you've helped many people with their minor problems. I know you can't take the cancer away, I don't want you to fix my mother. I want you to fix me. I guess all I really want is a friend. Someone I can talk to without a face, without having to see the pity behind their eyes. If not that's okay too... Just thought I'd ask.

Me.

The ache in Holly's chest grew each moment she read more into the paragraph. Did this person really think she was capable of being that type of outlet? There was a difference between giving people boyfriend advice than helping them cope with their dying mother.

A deep breath left her lips, trying to imagine herself in that situation. Feeling so desperate and alone that she was forced to seek the help of an online advice blog. The least she could do was try. If she failed, at least she could say that she tried.

Clicking private reply on the message, she began to type:

"Dear Me:

I am sorry to hear about your mother. No one in the world should have to experience this. Cancer sucks. I don't know how well I can do this – make you feel less alone, but I can try."

Holly hit send just as her mother's voice rang from downstairs calling for dinner. Logging out, she pulled herself from her comfy blush pink sheets before stepping out of her room, trudging down the stairs to take a seat across from her mom. The thought of helping Me bouncing around in her head.