Zoe Trope. If you haven't heard of her, don't worry. it's only a matter of time. Her memoir, Please Don't Kill the Freshman, about being a freshman in a Portland high school--originally published on local indie press, Future Tense--recently sold to HarperCollins for six figures, and will be published next year. Due to the potentially libelous content of the book, however, Zoe is not allowed to be photographed, to give her real name or name of her school. But that's okay. She's still allowed to be really smart. The following is her story, as told to the Mercury.


Camped out in front of my locker like a homeless person. Waiting for a security guard to yell at me. They pass by numerous times and do not even look at me. I should be in class. Instead, I open Bukowski's Tales of An Ordinary Madness and read with a look of confusion on my face. I find this beautiful. No. one. notices.. Cherry Bitch lets me wear her cat-eyed glasses. I feel silly and vain and I like it. I walk home and eventually kiss the Wonka Boi (supposed to be gai). He shoves his tongue in my mouth anxiously, awkwardly. Too much like a child ripping open a shiny Christmas present only to be disappointed. I don't understand my need to mess with unattractive people. Curry wore a candy necklace today and I tried to bite off some candy and ended up making his neck bleed. What a tragedy. My hands are cold. My feet hurt. Career week only gets worse, I think. Tomorrow we have to write notes to the presenters we saw today (like the woman from State Farm who tried to convince us that selling insurance was a fun, interesting career field. LYING WHORE). That could take at least two hours. Vivarin. I believe this calls for Vivarin.