^The following is a group poem created by three students: Tim, Ethan and Clare. They represent three characters through this story: Isaac - Tim, Ferris - Ethan and Phoebe - Clare.* Parentheses represent writing, quotations represent speaking.*

(Dear diary, Goldie died today. It wasn't a great day.) "Greatly understated; go grovel over a goldfish after you game with us!" "You frickin' loved Goldie!" (But I started the 4th grade - it feels like a fresh start, but mom and dad were fighting again.) "Sounds like a bad kung-fu movie." "We should all do karate!" "I think it's jiu-jitsu." "You're stupid. It's actually called martial arts. Jew-jitsu is something we learned in social studies. Duh." (So I guess nothing changed. Me, Ferris and Phoebe found action figures fighting in the foyer, so I didn't pay much attention to my parents.) '''''"Pew pew!"

(Dear diary, it's about midway through seventh grade now, and I think my friends are changing; the only guy friend I have that isn't off chasing girls is FERRIS of all people.) "Pfft... I don't HAVE to CHASE." "More like you don't HAVE a CHANCE." "Heh, you wanna know what I DO have? Hehe..." "That's filthy, Ferris..." (Anyway, it's agaonizingly annoying. Dad doesn't date and demands I don't date so 'I dominate my destiny'. I don't care, I don't even have a job yet. I'm starting to worry 'what if I don't have a job soon?'" "Usually starvation." "You could always be a hobo..." "But I like...girls." "HOBO, you nitwit!"

(Dear diary, this has been the worst month ever. All of my friends are acquainting themselves with asshol  arrogance, my girlfriend left me, and teachers complain about my work ethic sucking. And my only not fake friends are Ferris and Phoebe. My GPA is nosediving. I can that the only consistency is that I still don't have a job. So what now..?) "The hobo option is still up for grabs." "We have been over this; he likes GIRLS." "Shut up, Ferris."

(Dear diary, it is month two of being out of school. Maybe dropping out wasn't that great of an idea...) "Really? Nooooooo, ya don't say?" (Well, I have fourteen friends now! Ferris, Phoebe and twelve cans of beer!) "They won't be friends for long." "They seem kinda cold... and don't talk much." (As lovely as it is living with my loving mother, she tells me I remind her of my dad. I am going to see a therapist.) "Long overdue."

(Dear diary, I left Ferris and Phoebe at home today and I went to the doctors alone. I haven't been truly alone in a long time. Doc gave me some meds for hallucinations, and I haven't seen Phoebe or Ferris since...) "...Before the doctors appointment."