Should I continue writing my novel?

I’m not really sure if this is good, so could someone please read it and tell me if I should continue writing? Thanks! :)

Don’t Open this until your ready, Alexa.

Those seven words were written in sharpie across my sister's leather bound diary, the same one she had gotten at the Renaissance Fair two years before her death. The diary was clamped shut with a golden lock that sparkled in the sun, which was why I had no problem noticing the large book that lay on my wooden desk. Around my neck was a key---the only key that allowed my sister's diary to be opened, the only key that would allow my sister's secrets to be exposed to everyone who wished to read it.

My face suddenly turned pale, and I unclasped the key necklace that was around my neck. I turned it over onto my palm once, and I noticed that my sister's initials were etched into the back---N. L. E.---Noelle Lauren Edwards. My hands started to shake as I coiled the necklace into a spiral and duck taped it to the front cover. I sighed. 

“Don't you see, Noelle,” I whispered, almost as if Noelle was actually in the room with me. “I'll never be ready! You committed suicide, and I'm just left here, picking up the pieces you left.” Tears started to fall down my cheeks as I spoke, and I opened my bedroom window. Almost as if in slow motion, I let Noelle's diary fall onto the street below, and I started to cry even harder.

Suddenly, there was a light knock at my bedroom door. “Alexandra?”

It was my mother. I unlocked my door and let her come in. “What did I tell you about locking your door,” my mother asked. “What if something had happened and I wasn't here? What if your sister had needed something?”

“Oh. Where is she?” I had almost expected the seven-year-old to be hiding behind my mother, but she was no where to be found. She sighed. “She's at the Frese's---playing with Sasha. I had forgotten that we're supposed to be at the funeral home at two, so hurry up, OK?” 

“Fine,” I said reluctantly, grabbing my coat and putting it on. My mother watched me carefully as I put on my favorite pair of purple converse, and she only moved once to allow me to exit my bedroom. 

I walked outside and into the cool, autumn air. The Frese's only lived across the street, but even still I was chilled to the bone by the time I had arrived at their front step. I rang the door bell twice, and to my luck, Julian had answered the door, and not Ms. Frese. In my opinion, his mom was a bit mean and judgmental, and I didn't exactly need to hear what she had to say about Noelle's suicide.

“Hey, Alexa,” Julian said, milk jug in hand.

“Hi.” Julian stood there, waiting expectantly, but I felt as if I could could break any minute, and I didn't want Julian to see that. He suddenly nodded knowingly, and I watched him walk back into the house. He suddenly glanced back at me, probably just realizing that it was cold outside. “You can come in if you want,” he offered. “I think the girls are up stairs---at least, they were when I came back from the Nursery Home this morning.”