Look, you probably bought this book because you heard about how I’m an impoverished orphan at the heart of a national slut-shaming scandal, and you thought, Oh, great, this is just the kind of heart-wrenching tale I need to feel better about my own life, but seriously, you have to relax. I am not some pitiful Oliver-Twist-meets-Kim-Kardashian type figure. If you’re seeking a nice cathartic cry, I’m not your girl. May I recommend binge-watching some sort of medical drama for the level of secondhand devastation you’re looking for.

Either that or you saw the nudes, which, y’know. Most people have. My lopsided boobs have received more press attention than your average international epidemic, which I bet the supervirus population is furious about. All that hard work attempting to destroy the human race gone unnoticed.

But here it is, the unvarnished account of everything that went down my senior year, taken straight from the journal entries on my blog. Which is a big win for me because putting this together for you was practically no work on my part. When in doubt, always do the least amount of work possible, in order to preserve energy for important things like laughing and sex.

Don’t look at me like that. This is a book about a sex scandal, did you really expect me to be a nun and/or the Virgin Mary?

Continue reading here.