āYouāre not going to murder me in the night, are you?ā Emily asks. āHahaha. Thatās funny,ā I say. Of course, Iām not going to murder her in the night. I need my laptop back first. Thatās the whole point of making friends with Emily Harper, author of the hugely successful novel Diary of an Octopus. So I could get into her apartment and take back whatās mine. Emily doesnāt know who I really am. She thinks Iām her biggest fan, her new best friend who happens to need a place to stay for a few days. She doesnāt realize the laptop she foundāand tookāfrom a busy airport almost two years ago was mine. I donāt care about the laptop, just what's on it: my diary. I kept it many years ago as a troubled thirteen-year-old girl with a vivid imagination and a flair for the dramatic. Now she's published it as her own. She thinks it's a story about a schoolgirlās crush on her teacher, but sheās wrong. Itās a story about a murder. Two murders, if you count the hamster. She thought it was okay to make a few changes and publish it under her own name, but she was wrong about that too. Because, sometimes, truth is deadlier than fiction.