I open the little box and count five round, shiny, red speckled candies, choosing the one in the middle. I pop it in my mouth and give it a hard suck. As the sweetness explodes in my mouth I think about Emma. She gave me this box of candies the terrible day she left school. Her family had to move back to England, and there was nothing she could do about it. When I first heard the news, I was so shocked that I actually believed it wasn’t true. By the time it sunk in, it was too late. She was gone.
Watermelon Ice Breakers were always her favourite, the only thing she spent her meagre amount of pocket money on. She bought me a packet the day she left, a present she thought meant nothing compared to the others we gave each other.
They were the most important gift I’ve received in my life, and I saved them all the way up to the first day of Grade seven, until I started eating them, one a day.
I had known Emma for so long, I can’t remember my life without her. Emma was the happy one, the confident one, the one that stuck up for me, comforted me when I was scared. As we got older, something started to chip at me. Why would someone so awesome bother to hang out with me, nervous, shy, insecure Stephanie? One day when I asked her why, she told me that I was funny and I was kind. But Emma could easily fit in with anyone, and she was miles kinder and funnier than anyone I know. We still stayed like two peas in a pod though, always together, always close. We never really bothered with other people, it was always just us. The past three weeks have been so lonely without her, sitting on my own all the time, and watching the other girls in their groups have fun.
As I watch the other girls chat, I feel more and more lonely, so I adjust myself so that my back is facing them. I can see the nonfiction section now, where a few other lonely souls are sitting and eating or browsing for books.
I don’t know any of them, but maybe I should go and casually strike up some sort of conversation. I shiver at the thought of it. I don’t think that any of them would like me. Most of the time people like me keep ourselves to ourselves, and don’t interfere with anything else.
I shuffle around in my beanbag again to look at the other groups of kids, all in groups, laughing and chatting away. The side of the library they sit in seems warmer and more inviting, but whenever I try and approach any of them, it feels strange and not right, so I continue staring at them, trying to listen in to what they are saying.
All of a sudden the already freezing library gets colder as my ears perk up to what some girls in my class are saying.
“I don’t know why she’s so weepy all the time?” says Tiffany, flipping her long shiny blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Yeah, like, She’s being so weird today.” This time it is Violet talking, with her shiny pink lips and her hair tied up in a complicated plait.
“I know right? I really don’t like her that way.” Jasmine is sitting squeezed up beside all her friends on the shiny black leather couch, right in the center of the library. Their legs are all crossed facing the same direction, with their short, short skirts exposing quite a lot of thigh.
All of a sudden I feel quite sick and my brain is running around in circles inside my skull. It is almost certain they are gossiping in their silly popular voices about me.
I don’t want to hear what they are saying right now. My eyes are clenched shut and my ears are closed up to the world. Even if it wasn’t about me, I don’t want to hear their sassy and selfish conversation.
“I get that she misses her a lot, but she doesn’t have to be so over-the-top about it.”
Over-the-top? Who are you calling over-the-top, Little Miss Drama Queen? Alessia is always going on about something going drastically wrong, her stories always dramatic and loud.
And I do miss Emma. I miss her a ton, but I don’t want anyone saying horrible things about it. I always suspected that the other girls thought I was weird but I never thought they’d be so nasty as to gossip about it. I feel angry tears forming in the corner of my eyes, my cheeks start to burn and my heart is thumping so loud that I am surprised the librarian doesn’t come over and tell me to shush.
I am not being a witness to the cruelty a Grade seven girl can dish out so easily.
Before I know it I have flung my heavy blue bag over my shoulders, stood up and walked out of the library.
When I get to the bathroom, I stop and push open the heavy beige door, holding the scratched metal handle with an iron grip. I walk right to the end of the tiny bathroom and choose the cubicle furthest from the door, locking myself in and sitting down hard on the cracked dirty-white toilet lid. Before I have time to do my usual over-thinking, I have pulled my precious box of Ice Breakers out of my bag, twisted open the lid and poured the entire contents of this box of memories into my mouth.
When the sweet tangy flavor fills my mouth, I let the feeling of complete satisfaction slide over me, enveloping me in a warm and cozy daze. Life-like memories of Emma take over my brain.
We are just six years old, and Emma and I are sitting on a glue, glitter and bead covered rug on her everything-purple bedroom floor. I grab a shiny jar of blue glitter and pour the entire contents over Emma’s frizzy brown hair, both of us covered in ridiculous smiles and laughter.
Now we are nine, and we’re on school camp.
“In Cabin three we have Carla, Violet, Stephanie,” Mrs Robinson pauses to adjust her thick brown glasses. Emma and I stare at each other desperately, our fingers and toes both crossed tightly. “and Emma.” she sighs, raising her eyebrows as Emma and I stand up and we high five, Emma’s freckly face taken over by an enormous grin.
But as the Ice Breakers slowly get smaller and smaller until they dissolve, I start to regret eating them all. My special images of Emma are all gone and bitter memories fill my head as I think about her now.
Just last year, Emma and I had a fight. I try and make it up to her but she’s too angry. When I wait for her at my lockers, instead of joining me, she brushes past roughly, chatting away with Tiffany, and my heart starts to hurt as I watch her walk away.
I lean back against the wall. Instead of feeling honey slide down my throat as I swallow, just like I did before, my saliva tastes bitter, almost burning my throat as it goes down.
Suddenly, I turn around, my eyes snap open and I turn around. What was that sniffing noise? I press my ear hard up against the cubicle wall. Sniff. There it is again. Sniff Sniff. Then it hits me. Someone else is crying. It is not my business to interfere, so why do I want to know about it? Am I being nosy? Or should I help? I really don’t want to do the wrong thing.
“Hello?” I whisper tentatively. The world is probably thinking I’m an idiot right now.
To my surprise, the sniffing stops and I hear a very quiet yes. Her voice is brittle and and wobbly, barely even there.
I put my bag back on, my feet flat on the mudpack brown, ugly, tiled floor as I shuffle to the door, turning the shiny black handle, the door unlocking with a snap. Then I knock, very gingerly, on the door that I’m sure the voice came from. The handle turns and I hear a snap as the sniffing person unlocks the door. A tall but slight figure steps out, her head down so that her shiny brunette hair falls in a curtain over her face. Her skirt is the signature cool kid short and her long long legs make it look shorter. Then I recognize her, and step back in astonishment. It’s Ellie, the girl who sits behind me in Humanities. She is loud, confident and funny, constantly surrounded by her posse of friends.
My stomach lurches with the complete shock
“Are you alright?” I ask, not thinking before I speak, once again. Ellie jerks her head.
“Yes,” I single tear rolls down her cheek as she looks up at me. She is not alright.
“You can tell me if you want, I mean, you might not but, um” I stutter. Why on earth would Ellie want to tell me? I clearly have no idea what I am doing. To my complete surprise, within seconds, Ellie’s whole story comes out. She talks about everything that happened at school that made her feel really sad because she missed her best friend Carla who left when Emma did. She talked about how she still sits with her friends but she thinks she annoys them and she doesn’t really fit in. But she also talked about something strange.
“So I went to the toilet, mainly to get some headspace.” Ellie is crying again, tears leaking out of her bright blue eyes and dropping onto the ground.
“Yes.” I reply. That is exactly what I did earlier.
“When I was walking back and got to the library, I was about to rejoin them when I heard them talking about something, so I ran back into the bathroom; I didn’t want them to know I’d heard.” This is sounding more and more like what happened to me this lunchtime, and my heart is beating and beating, faster and faster and faster until it’s bashing the sides of my ribcage, desperate to get out, a caged monster that only wants to be free. I try and ask her what they were saying, but my voice comes out all stuttery and frankly, incomprehensible, because of what I’m starting to worry.
“They were saying,” Ellie pauses to take a breath. “They were saying how it was so annoying that I was weepy and annoying and all this other stuff. They said I was being weird and that they didn’t like me that way” She looks down at her black converse clad feet.
My intestines are twisting themselves into knots. My heart is biting at my chest. My head is spinning and spinning. And I feel sick and I run into a cubicle and slam the door and I never, ever, ever want to come out.
They weren’t talking about me.
Tap Tap Tap. It starts of quiet tap and gets louder and sharper and more desperate, ending up being a fast loud rap that I am surprised doesn’t break her knuckles. I stand inside the cubicle, clenching my fists, my skin roasting hot from the anger at myself. How could I have been so stupid? I’m always wallowing in self-pity, expecting everyone hates me. I didn’t have any proof that the girls were talking about me.
This might seem like a story, but these feeling are real, and I am struggling to keep them under control.
The knocking is getting ever louder, but I ignore it. Instead, I reach into my bag and pull out the empty box of Ice Breakers. I twist open the lid, and bring it up to my nose. The smell is perfect, drowning out the almost-too-clean smell of the bathroom with it’s sweet scent. But as I look at it, I realise something else. It’s not these candies from heaven that I’m missing. It’s someone to trust my precious emotions with.
With that I stand up, unlock the door and step out, holding my heavy bag on my shoulders and a fabulous plan in my head.
When I step out, Ellie is still standing outside the door, and she steps back in surprise when she sees me.
“Thank goodness you came out!” Gasps Ellie, her bright blue eyes sparkling in shock.
“There’s something I want to do. Can you come?” I ask, trying to sound confident, my voice wobbling like under-set Jell-O. Before she has a chance to reply I say “We don’t have much time.” Wow, I’m making this sound like a James Bond movie. Ellie nods her head and follows me out. We walk in an awkward silence, me slightly in front of her. What have I gotten myself into? Should I do this? It’s too late now, I’ve already arrived at the huge glass door of the library, covered in posters about keeping the library quiet and organised. I shove the door open, and my heart skips a beat when I see the group of people that hurt both me and Ellie so badly. I start walking towards them, but it’s hard because my legs are over-cooked spaghetti, my knees have suddenly become soft and I can barely hold my weight. I take a deep breath.
This is it. It’s too late to back out now.
I approach them, Ellie behind me. When we arrive a few metres from them, they finally notice us. Well, they notice Ellie.
“What took you so long?” Jasmine asks, her perfect face coated in makeup covered confusion.
“Yeah, are you alright?” Tiffany continues, her eyebrows raised. Ellie nods, and says nothing. It is time for me to say something. I can do this. No I can’t. Yes I can. No I can’t. I try and breathe slowly, but my breaths are ragged, and I am rooted to the spot in this blinding black fear, a huge tiger, biting and scratching at me, trying to swallow me whole.
Tiffany and the others are staring at me, but I can barely see them. All I want to do is run away, run away and hide from everything. I’m not a coward. I’ve run away twice already today and it’s time to do something about it. I open my mouth to speak when Ellie juts in.
“I heard what you said. And it hurt me, because I’d had enough.” Then Ellie jerks her head in my direction.
“But Stephanie helped me, and she wants to say that she doesn’t appreciate hearing gossip about others.” I take a deep breath, the fear melting away fast, an ice cube in the sahara. Ellie said it for me, I didn’t need to make a fool of myself. The other girls are all sitting up straight, their pretty little mouths open wide in shock, until Violet says.
“Wow Ellie, like, chill. We’re totally cool with you. You know how teachers sometimes go off on a rant for no reason? It was just like that.
“Yeah, we’re completely cool with both of you.” Alessia’s face has returned to normal and she’s not looking down at her feet like I would be, instead she’s looking at us confidently, a completely fine-with-it expression on her face.
Ellie looks down, and then up, her hair flipping over her shoulders and then cascading down like a waterfall as she nods her head. I stand there awkwardly. What should I do? Am I supposed to be here. Have I broken some sort of rule? I decide to leave. After all, the others seem to be good without me. I slowly back away while Violet asks Ellie something, eventually turning around and running for it, my bag bouncing up and down as I run.
When the end of lunch bell rings, I’ve already been sitting in the empty Math class for ten minutes, and I have already finished the warm-up when Ellie and the others walk in, chatting away comfortably. They appear to have made up. The girls all walk past me without batting an eye and I look down sadly, slumping down on the actually- plastic wooden table. Oh. I just hoped, maybe, I could have, or something could have, changed.
Or has it? I jerk my head up in surprise as something tiny, square and wrapped in paper lands on my desk with a tiny thud. I look at the other girls. Ellie has already sat down at her table, but her chatting isn’t natural. Her head is cocked to the side and half her body is facing my direction.
I fiddle with the tiny package, wondering what will come out. I give it an impatient shake, and then watch something drop out and roll across the table. It looks like some sort of bead. Is this a joke? I sneak another glance at Ellie. Now she’s not even trying to disguise herself at all. Her face is covered in a hopeful smile. When she sees my puzzled expression, her long purple-nailed fingers make a turning sign. I turn over the paper.
In tiny, scrawly letters, something is spelled out. I crane my neck closer. “Since you love them so much.” Something snaps in my brain. I pick up the little bead and give it a closer inspection. It is covered in tiny little red dots.
But how did she know?
When I turn around, everyone at her table gives me a big, huge, thumbs-up. I smile.
For the little bead is a shiny, fabulous, sweet and absolutely beautiful watermelon Ice Breaker, and as I put it in my slightly open mouth, my hand concealing it so that Mrs Wallman doesn’t see, I know that it’s not the people who’ve changed. It’s me.
- Heidi Foster
They were the most important gift I’ve received in my life, and I saved them all the way up to the first day of Grade seven, until I started eating them, one a day.
I had known Emma for so long, I can’t remember my life without her. Emma was the happy one, the confident one, the one that stuck up for me, comforted me when I was scared. As we got older, something started to chip at me. Why would someone so awesome bother to hang out with me, nervous, shy, insecure Stephanie? One day when I asked her why, she told me that I was funny and I was kind. But Emma could easily fit in with anyone, and she was miles kinder and funnier than anyone I know. We still stayed like two peas in a pod though, always together, always close. We never really bothered with other people, it was always just us. The past three weeks have been so lonely without her, sitting on my own all the time, and watching the other girls in their groups have fun.
As I watch the other girls chat, I feel more and more lonely, so I adjust myself so that my back is facing them. I can see the nonfiction section now, where a few other lonely souls are sitting and eating or browsing for books.
I don’t know any of them, but maybe I should go and casually strike up some sort of conversation. I shiver at the thought of it. I don’t think that any of them would like me. Most of the time people like me keep ourselves to ourselves, and don’t interfere with anything else.
I shuffle around in my beanbag again to look at the other groups of kids, all in groups, laughing and chatting away. The side of the library they sit in seems warmer and more inviting, but whenever I try and approach any of them, it feels strange and not right, so I continue staring at them, trying to listen in to what they are saying.
All of a sudden the already freezing library gets colder as my ears perk up to what some girls in my class are saying.
“I don’t know why she’s so weepy all the time?” says Tiffany, flipping her long shiny blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Yeah, like, She’s being so weird today.” This time it is Violet talking, with her shiny pink lips and her hair tied up in a complicated plait.
“I know right? I really don’t like her that way.” Jasmine is sitting squeezed up beside all her friends on the shiny black leather couch, right in the center of the library. Their legs are all crossed facing the same direction, with their short, short skirts exposing quite a lot of thigh.
All of a sudden I feel quite sick and my brain is running around in circles inside my skull. It is almost certain they are gossiping in their silly popular voices about me.
I don’t want to hear what they are saying right now. My eyes are clenched shut and my ears are closed up to the world. Even if it wasn’t about me, I don’t want to hear their sassy and selfish conversation.
“I get that she misses her a lot, but she doesn’t have to be so over-the-top about it.”
Over-the-top? Who are you calling over-the-top, Little Miss Drama Queen? Alessia is always going on about something going drastically wrong, her stories always dramatic and loud.
And I do miss Emma. I miss her a ton, but I don’t want anyone saying horrible things about it. I always suspected that the other girls thought I was weird but I never thought they’d be so nasty as to gossip about it. I feel angry tears forming in the corner of my eyes, my cheeks start to burn and my heart is thumping so loud that I am surprised the librarian doesn’t come over and tell me to shush.
I am not being a witness to the cruelty a Grade seven girl can dish out so easily.
Before I know it I have flung my heavy blue bag over my shoulders, stood up and walked out of the library.
When I get to the bathroom, I stop and push open the heavy beige door, holding the scratched metal handle with an iron grip. I walk right to the end of the tiny bathroom and choose the cubicle furthest from the door, locking myself in and sitting down hard on the cracked dirty-white toilet lid. Before I have time to do my usual over-thinking, I have pulled my precious box of Ice Breakers out of my bag, twisted open the lid and poured the entire contents of this box of memories into my mouth.
When the sweet tangy flavor fills my mouth, I let the feeling of complete satisfaction slide over me, enveloping me in a warm and cozy daze. Life-like memories of Emma take over my brain.
We are just six years old, and Emma and I are sitting on a glue, glitter and bead covered rug on her everything-purple bedroom floor. I grab a shiny jar of blue glitter and pour the entire contents over Emma’s frizzy brown hair, both of us covered in ridiculous smiles and laughter.
Now we are nine, and we’re on school camp.
“In Cabin three we have Carla, Violet, Stephanie,” Mrs Robinson pauses to adjust her thick brown glasses. Emma and I stare at each other desperately, our fingers and toes both crossed tightly. “and Emma.” she sighs, raising her eyebrows as Emma and I stand up and we high five, Emma’s freckly face taken over by an enormous grin.
But as the Ice Breakers slowly get smaller and smaller until they dissolve, I start to regret eating them all. My special images of Emma are all gone and bitter memories fill my head as I think about her now.
Just last year, Emma and I had a fight. I try and make it up to her but she’s too angry. When I wait for her at my lockers, instead of joining me, she brushes past roughly, chatting away with Tiffany, and my heart starts to hurt as I watch her walk away.
I lean back against the wall. Instead of feeling honey slide down my throat as I swallow, just like I did before, my saliva tastes bitter, almost burning my throat as it goes down.
Suddenly, I turn around, my eyes snap open and I turn around. What was that sniffing noise? I press my ear hard up against the cubicle wall. Sniff. There it is again. Sniff Sniff. Then it hits me. Someone else is crying. It is not my business to interfere, so why do I want to know about it? Am I being nosy? Or should I help? I really don’t want to do the wrong thing.
“Hello?” I whisper tentatively. The world is probably thinking I’m an idiot right now.
To my surprise, the sniffing stops and I hear a very quiet yes. Her voice is brittle and and wobbly, barely even there.
I put my bag back on, my feet flat on the mudpack brown, ugly, tiled floor as I shuffle to the door, turning the shiny black handle, the door unlocking with a snap. Then I knock, very gingerly, on the door that I’m sure the voice came from. The handle turns and I hear a snap as the sniffing person unlocks the door. A tall but slight figure steps out, her head down so that her shiny brunette hair falls in a curtain over her face. Her skirt is the signature cool kid short and her long long legs make it look shorter. Then I recognize her, and step back in astonishment. It’s Ellie, the girl who sits behind me in Humanities. She is loud, confident and funny, constantly surrounded by her posse of friends.
My stomach lurches with the complete shock
“Are you alright?” I ask, not thinking before I speak, once again. Ellie jerks her head.
“Yes,” I single tear rolls down her cheek as she looks up at me. She is not alright.
“You can tell me if you want, I mean, you might not but, um” I stutter. Why on earth would Ellie want to tell me? I clearly have no idea what I am doing. To my complete surprise, within seconds, Ellie’s whole story comes out. She talks about everything that happened at school that made her feel really sad because she missed her best friend Carla who left when Emma did. She talked about how she still sits with her friends but she thinks she annoys them and she doesn’t really fit in. But she also talked about something strange.
“So I went to the toilet, mainly to get some headspace.” Ellie is crying again, tears leaking out of her bright blue eyes and dropping onto the ground.
“Yes.” I reply. That is exactly what I did earlier.
“When I was walking back and got to the library, I was about to rejoin them when I heard them talking about something, so I ran back into the bathroom; I didn’t want them to know I’d heard.” This is sounding more and more like what happened to me this lunchtime, and my heart is beating and beating, faster and faster and faster until it’s bashing the sides of my ribcage, desperate to get out, a caged monster that only wants to be free. I try and ask her what they were saying, but my voice comes out all stuttery and frankly, incomprehensible, because of what I’m starting to worry.
“They were saying,” Ellie pauses to take a breath. “They were saying how it was so annoying that I was weepy and annoying and all this other stuff. They said I was being weird and that they didn’t like me that way” She looks down at her black converse clad feet.
My intestines are twisting themselves into knots. My heart is biting at my chest. My head is spinning and spinning. And I feel sick and I run into a cubicle and slam the door and I never, ever, ever want to come out.
They weren’t talking about me.
Tap Tap Tap. It starts of quiet tap and gets louder and sharper and more desperate, ending up being a fast loud rap that I am surprised doesn’t break her knuckles. I stand inside the cubicle, clenching my fists, my skin roasting hot from the anger at myself. How could I have been so stupid? I’m always wallowing in self-pity, expecting everyone hates me. I didn’t have any proof that the girls were talking about me.
This might seem like a story, but these feeling are real, and I am struggling to keep them under control.
The knocking is getting ever louder, but I ignore it. Instead, I reach into my bag and pull out the empty box of Ice Breakers. I twist open the lid, and bring it up to my nose. The smell is perfect, drowning out the almost-too-clean smell of the bathroom with it’s sweet scent. But as I look at it, I realise something else. It’s not these candies from heaven that I’m missing. It’s someone to trust my precious emotions with.
With that I stand up, unlock the door and step out, holding my heavy bag on my shoulders and a fabulous plan in my head.
When I step out, Ellie is still standing outside the door, and she steps back in surprise when she sees me.
“Thank goodness you came out!” Gasps Ellie, her bright blue eyes sparkling in shock.
“There’s something I want to do. Can you come?” I ask, trying to sound confident, my voice wobbling like under-set Jell-O. Before she has a chance to reply I say “We don’t have much time.” Wow, I’m making this sound like a James Bond movie. Ellie nods her head and follows me out. We walk in an awkward silence, me slightly in front of her. What have I gotten myself into? Should I do this? It’s too late now, I’ve already arrived at the huge glass door of the library, covered in posters about keeping the library quiet and organised. I shove the door open, and my heart skips a beat when I see the group of people that hurt both me and Ellie so badly. I start walking towards them, but it’s hard because my legs are over-cooked spaghetti, my knees have suddenly become soft and I can barely hold my weight. I take a deep breath.
This is it. It’s too late to back out now.
I approach them, Ellie behind me. When we arrive a few metres from them, they finally notice us. Well, they notice Ellie.
“What took you so long?” Jasmine asks, her perfect face coated in makeup covered confusion.
“Yeah, are you alright?” Tiffany continues, her eyebrows raised. Ellie nods, and says nothing. It is time for me to say something. I can do this. No I can’t. Yes I can. No I can’t. I try and breathe slowly, but my breaths are ragged, and I am rooted to the spot in this blinding black fear, a huge tiger, biting and scratching at me, trying to swallow me whole.
Tiffany and the others are staring at me, but I can barely see them. All I want to do is run away, run away and hide from everything. I’m not a coward. I’ve run away twice already today and it’s time to do something about it. I open my mouth to speak when Ellie juts in.
“I heard what you said. And it hurt me, because I’d had enough.” Then Ellie jerks her head in my direction.
“But Stephanie helped me, and she wants to say that she doesn’t appreciate hearing gossip about others.” I take a deep breath, the fear melting away fast, an ice cube in the sahara. Ellie said it for me, I didn’t need to make a fool of myself. The other girls are all sitting up straight, their pretty little mouths open wide in shock, until Violet says.
“Wow Ellie, like, chill. We’re totally cool with you. You know how teachers sometimes go off on a rant for no reason? It was just like that.
“Yeah, we’re completely cool with both of you.” Alessia’s face has returned to normal and she’s not looking down at her feet like I would be, instead she’s looking at us confidently, a completely fine-with-it expression on her face.
Ellie looks down, and then up, her hair flipping over her shoulders and then cascading down like a waterfall as she nods her head. I stand there awkwardly. What should I do? Am I supposed to be here. Have I broken some sort of rule? I decide to leave. After all, the others seem to be good without me. I slowly back away while Violet asks Ellie something, eventually turning around and running for it, my bag bouncing up and down as I run.
When the end of lunch bell rings, I’ve already been sitting in the empty Math class for ten minutes, and I have already finished the warm-up when Ellie and the others walk in, chatting away comfortably. They appear to have made up. The girls all walk past me without batting an eye and I look down sadly, slumping down on the actually- plastic wooden table. Oh. I just hoped, maybe, I could have, or something could have, changed.
Or has it? I jerk my head up in surprise as something tiny, square and wrapped in paper lands on my desk with a tiny thud. I look at the other girls. Ellie has already sat down at her table, but her chatting isn’t natural. Her head is cocked to the side and half her body is facing my direction.
I fiddle with the tiny package, wondering what will come out. I give it an impatient shake, and then watch something drop out and roll across the table. It looks like some sort of bead. Is this a joke? I sneak another glance at Ellie. Now she’s not even trying to disguise herself at all. Her face is covered in a hopeful smile. When she sees my puzzled expression, her long purple-nailed fingers make a turning sign. I turn over the paper.
In tiny, scrawly letters, something is spelled out. I crane my neck closer. “Since you love them so much.” Something snaps in my brain. I pick up the little bead and give it a closer inspection. It is covered in tiny little red dots.
But how did she know?
When I turn around, everyone at her table gives me a big, huge, thumbs-up. I smile.
For the little bead is a shiny, fabulous, sweet and absolutely beautiful watermelon Ice Breaker, and as I put it in my slightly open mouth, my hand concealing it so that Mrs Wallman doesn’t see, I know that it’s not the people who’ve changed. It’s me.
- Heidi Foster
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