When he came to his ninth period class that day, there was something on his seat. It was small and blue, scribbled on in someone’s messy handwriting. When he picked it up and read it, little did he know that small, blue, scribbled-on Post-It would change his life.

Dear Period Nine Person,
You don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who you are. I’ve got a lot on my mind, but I feel no one ever hears me, so I’m going to tell you instead. I’m stressed out and sad, and just kind of a mess. I’ve been ditched by all my so-called “friends;” they posted embarrassing pictures and made fun of me on Instagram. My parents are never around, and my older brother doesn’t care about me. I’m alone, in every way possible. Thank you for listening to me.
Eight

He didn’t know what to think, honestly. Whoever this was, if this was real, they needed help. But if it wasn’t real, he’d get made fun of for overreacting. Should he ask the teacher who sat there? Should he tell his friends? He decided on taking the Post-It and sticking it in his pocket. He could make his decision later.

The next day, she found a Post-It exactly like the one he had gotten yesterday on her seat. The difference was what was written.

Dear Period Nine Person,
If it’s even possible, it’s gotten worse. The one place I don’t, well, didn’t feel completely alone was on the Internet, with this group of people who I could just talk and talk with, not worrying about real life. I shouldn’t have broughten my world in there. Because when I did, they laughed at me and called me dramatic and a lot of mean things and names, and then they just… left me. Someone sat with me at lunch today, which you might think is good, but it’s not. I wish I could just go through my day alone, if that’s what’s going to happen anyway.  Lunch is the only meal I’m assured, given the state of home. Thank you for listening to me.
Eight

She was as conflicted as he was. This sounded horrible, she wanted to find this person and comfort them, tell them that they could make it through. But how could she find out who it was? The seats had been switched around, and the teacher was notorious for forgetting names. She could have a class with them, but how would she find out, aside from asking, “Did anyone leave a blue Post-It on their seat in eighth period yesterday,” which she wouldn’t make herself do.

He got a note on his seat the next day. It was a different “he” than the first one, a different person with a different mind to be touched by the mystery of the identity of “Eight.”

Dear Period Nine Person,
My mom was in the hospital yesterday. Almost died of a heroin overdose. I was the only one who came. I talked to the guidance counselor this morning, just because she wanted to try to help me. I need help, but the guidance counselor wasn’t giving it. She just wanted to make a list of all my problems for her file. I know from experience. So I sat there, silently, and didn’t say a single word for all of that half an hour. I’ve been talking less and less. The world doesn’t seem to want me to exist anymore, and the best way to make someone not exist is to make them not talk. Thank you for listening to me.
Eight

“Who is Eight?” he thought to himself. Unlike the other two, he decided to drop a hint about it.
“Something really weird happened,” the second he told the first. “Someone put this Post-It spilling their guts on my chair.”
“The same thing happened to me,” the first he replied.
“I wonder who it is,” the second said.
“Me too.”

A second she got the fourth note on her seat. She had no knowledge of the other three notes, or the other three people to receive them. She just knew about her own note, and knew that her heart reached out to this person.

Dear Period Nine Person,
People have been talking to me again. I just smile and react in the way a normal person should (minus talking), because I have that disguise to keep. On the outside, I look like any of you. Some have said I look perfect, even. They say what matters is what’s inside, but why is it so hard to get past the outside? Why do people not see past my disguise? Maybe that’s why no one can help me. The world seems to just get bleaker and grayer every day. Thank you for listening to me.
Eight

“I know how you feel,” she thought. She was the classic definition of “popular;” pretty, smart, athletic, many friends. But with that title came insecurities about herself, about everyone else. “I hope people will eventually see through both our disguises, and maybe then we can both talk again.”

Dear Period Nine Person,
I thought the Internet was my friend. I was wrong. I said some things, some stupid things that I forgot about, and they’ve come back to haunt me. Someone I thought my friend found them, and sent them out for everyone. It seems everything is just crumbling to pieces around my feet. Is there anything left worth living for here? Thank you for listening to me.
Eight

This note went to the third she. Her breath stopped for a moment when she read that second to last line. Was whoever this “Eight” was suicidal? How would she know if this was real or not? What could she do if it was? Her head cracked with each new question.

Dear Period Nine Person,
I’ve made my decision. There’s no one who seems to be able to help me, nothing that seems worth living for. It was nice talking to you, do you know that? You, whoever you are, listened to me. You let me just spill it all out there, whatever was on my mind. I left you my blue Post-Its. Do something good with them when I’m gone. Start a movement, or tell someone how you feel. You can do a world of good with only one note. You can make a difference in someone else’s life. I have this weird idea that I made a difference for you, but who am I kidding? No one cares about me. Most of my life is a lie. Tomorrow is my last day. Thank you for listening all this time to me.
Eight

This was the third he’s note. It was on his chair, with the rest of the pack of Post-Its, like the note said. He was sitting at a table of six; the three hes and the three shes. He took the Post-It off the seat and slammed it on the table.
“Has anyone else gotten a note like this?” he said.
“Yeah, last week,” the first he said.
“Yesterday,” the third she said. “It freaked me out.”
“Monday,” the second he said.
“I got one Friday of last week,” the first she said. “I thought it wasn’t but I think this is actually real.”
“Tuesday,” the second she said. “But why would someone put all those things down for the world to see? It could’ve been anyone who got those notes.”
“Because they thought it would make a difference,” the third he said.
“I have an idea,” the first she said. “I’m assuming the ‘Eight’ of the person’s used name is for period eight, considering they address us as ‘Period Nine Person.’ So what if we come in seventh period, say we’re going to the bathroom or something, and come in here and stick a handwritten message on those blue Post-Its. Convince them not to do it.”
“That’s actually a great idea,” the second he added.
“But how would we get in here seventh period?” the first he asked. “Isn’t there a class in here?”
“Nope,” the second she replied. “It’s a prep period. I’ve come in for extra help a few times.”
“Alright then,” the first she said. “It’s set. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

When Eight walked into class, the first in, unnoticed, there were little blue Post-Its on every chair in the room. They were little handwritten messages, all in different styles. Different Period Nine People, making their own difference. Eight read each and every one.

Dear Eight,
I don’t know who you are, and you don’t know who I am. But I’ve heard you, loud and clear. I know how it feels to be alone. But it gets better. It always will. There’s always someone to talk to, and there’s always someone who will listen. Go seek out those people. You’ve got a long life ahead of you, with time to find them, so don’t end it now. There’s so much ahead of you. Thanks for listening to me.
Period Nine Person

Dear Eight,
Don’t force yourself to be alone. I know it may seem like the best way sometimes, just you and your thoughts, but trust me, it’s not. I know how you feel though. But there’s plenty of time to find the people who make you not want to be alone. Maybe I can be one of them. Don’t cut your time short. I know you have a bright future ahead of you. Thank you for listening to me.
Period Nine Person

Dear Eight,
Some of the things that have happened to you are really horrible. I know you feel alone and worthless. I know you feel like there’s nothing to help, like the world is slipping out of your hands. Because of all of this, you stopped talking. Don’t stop talking, and don’t stop living! I want to hear that voice, and listen to it tell stories and laugh. There’s a lot of time left for you, and I, to do that. Thank you for listening to me.
Period Nine Person

Dear Eight,
You said you’re waiting for someone to see past your disguise. I do. I feel like that too, like I’m just a pretty face, and no one sees anything else. But the pressure of perfection is self-imposed. Peel off your own disguise, and show everyone the true you, all the emotions and guts and personality. I’d be happy to do it with you. Thank you for listening to me.
Period Nine Person

Dear Eight,
The Internet is a dangerous place, never to be trusted. Past mistakes are kept there forever, always on display. I know how you feel, something similar happened to me. But there’s always something to keep living for, because your life takes place outside your phone. Make your own difference in the world, like you’ve done for me. For all of us Period Nine People. You changed our world. Thank you for listening.
Period Nine Person

Dear Eight,
I know you feel hopeless and worthless and a whole lot of other horrible emotions. I was at that place at a time too. But my friends came together, and they helped me out of it. I want to be your friend, and help you out of it. All of us Period Nine People want to. But if you end your own life today, that will never happen, among other things. I’m reaching a hand and a rope to you. Grab it, and climb out of your hole. Thank you for listening to me.
Period Nine Person

Eight was crying silent tears. These people, whoever they were, cared enough about what Eight said to write back. To motivate. To help. Maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel, without even going all the way. Eight sat in their seat and read through the notes, over and over and over again. And at the end of class, Eight stuck around, and wrote in big blue letters on the front board, I’m okay. Thanks for listening to me.

The six were waiting outside the door when they saw Eight, the person who wrote them, the person they wrote to. Eight wrote in big blue letters, I’m okay. Thanks for listening to me. The six knew they had made their difference, and Eight knew it too. The seven all took a good look at each other, and smiled, with a warmth to fill up the whole world.