I watched her fall

I watched her fall.

The branches snapping. The leaves shaking. The shriek. She lands. And it all went to fast. And all of a sudden Mum is sobbing, crying out “Summer, Summer” and Dad is staring and my big, brave, bold sister Ciara’s eyes are filling with tears and they are all crying out “Summer, Summer” And I stare. I watch them move forward to the closed eyes. Bright blonde hair fallen neatly, framing her face. Garland of flowers still neatly fitted onto her head. Chest rising and falling. No noise. Not a sound.

The ambulance was loud. Mum and Ciara and Dad were loud. The nurses were loud. Summer and I stayed deadly silent. I sat by her and tears poured out and gushed down my cheeks and dripped onto her pretty pale face but neither of us moved. And neither of us talked.

Then there was the stretcher. The mask fitted to her face and bandages everywhere and shouting doctors and nurses and rushing into the hospital and a teddy bear flung into my arms. The rainbow tye-dye dress whipped off her skinny body and a white hospital gown slapped on. Attached to machines and more bandages. Still I don’t make a sound. Neither does Summer.

Mum and Dad stayed by her side. Ciara threw a screaming fit and wailed, howling for hours that she just had to stay. I sat quietly by the bed and looked at her closed lids and pictured the sparkling blue eyes behind the eyelids. I touched the back of my hand to her cheek and swept her wispy hair out of her face. Later on at night I am lying in a strange, hard hotel bed still holding the teddy bear and listening to brave, strong, Ciara, who never cries, weeping to herself. I don’t make a sound. I pretend the bear is Summer and wrap my arms carefully around its waist, imagining soft rainbow cotton and long hair in my arms.

It all went too fast. I am back at school ,Math is happening and we are doing times tables. Normally, I like it but now I am sitting quietly and thinking about Summer. Mum is broken and sat at the dining table and held her coffee, bringing it up to her mouth, but never taking a sip. Dad is rushing to work and not talking and I hear him whispering her name. Today I will see Summer. We will drive for an hour in Dad’s big black car and I will not talk and Ciara will cry and Mum and Dad will silently think about Summer.

The visit went quickly. Mum and Dad talked to Summer but that’s silly because she can’t hear. Summer could understand me. She knew me. I sat silently by Summer and looked at her pale face and pretty red baby lips and brushed her hair carefully with a comb I brought from home.

My birthday is in a few weeks, and I will be 7, but I won’t get older until Summer gets better. I sit at school and Mrs Robinson and the lady-who-wears-too-much-perfume and the other councillor lady try and make me say things and I don’t, because I don’t like the lady’s perfume and I am too busy thinking about Summer. So I stay silent.
When we visit her today, the doctor and the nice nurse are saying things to Mum and Dad that are not making sense to me. So I sit by Summer, and think about her playing dolls with me and how she would always make up such funny stories and sometimes I laughed and made the dolls dance and twirl around the room. I cry more I think about it. I want to whisper to her, laugh with her again. When it is time to leave, I hold onto her hand, and I don’t want to let go.

Today I do more therapy. The lady-who-wears-too-much-perfume shows me flashcards of things I love, and tells me that if I say the words she will give me some candy. I don’t get any candy. But that doesn’t matter, because on the trip to see Summer I swipe some Mentos off the receptionist’s desk and store them safely away in my pocket. When we get inside, I open a Mentos and put it under Summer’s pillow. I whisper to her that when she wakes up, she can eat it. All that moves is her wispy blonde hair, swaying in the wind of the open window. Mum and Dad aren’t crying anymore but they do bring her presents. I saw a dress she was getting and wanted it but Mum said not unless I talked. So I didn’t get the dress.

I will be 7 soon. 5 years without making a sound. They know I’m not deaf because I can hear myself cry, and hear them beg me to just move my mouth. I think about Summer in class today, and picture the way her long legs would move so swiftly and smoothly up the branches of the trees. I think about how she would spring up and her legs would entwine the branches, and she’d almost walk up the thick wooden trunk. But I stop thinking when I get to the part where the branch is so thin, and she is balancing on her toes, and she squints in concentration, and suddenly, her foot slips and the branch snaps and... Mrs Robinson asks me why I’m crying and I say nothing and leave the room. I hear hushed voices saying that next year I will be in the “special class” Special is nice when you think of Summer. Special is not nice when you think of me.

Today when we saw Summer, it was the same as usual. It’s funny that you can’t see the pain that was painted on her face when she was falling. She can’t see the pain that is painted on my heart. Today we read Geronimo Stilton in class, and it was easy and boring but Mrs Robinson doesn’t know that. When it was my turn to read I dropped the book and walked back to the carpet, and sat down and wiped tears out of my eyes. Mum is drinking her coffee, but she is still broken. Ciara said Summer was a bad baby in her tummy and made her hurt a lot, and when she came out Summer wasn’t living very well. Ciara said that all Summer ever caused was pain. But that’s not true, because Summer is warm and friendly and inviting, and Winter is what gives you pain and sadness and makes you cold.

We did a worksheet where we described what the 4 seasons felt like. I thought Summer was nice, but she still won’t wake up so she is cold. When the receptionist said hello to me today, I wanted to scream because she still doesn’t understand that I won’t say it back.

When we saw Summer today, I told her in my head that I am praying for her and that God will save her. Mum says Summer is not dead. Mum says Summer is in a coma. They seem the same to me. All I want to do is say her name but I can’t. Everyone is talking, whispering, laughing, shouting, yelling, giggling, screaming, and I am silent. Silent like night-time when it is me and the stars. But if I look at them for too long they fall and Summer’s face appears on them and instead of warning her that the branch is too small, I watch her fall. I watch the stars fall. I watch Mum fall, onto the bed, into the chair, deeper into herself. Withdrawn into her own miserable face. Thinking about Summer.

I got mad when we got home. I threw my dolls across the room and I didn’t eat dinner and I scribbled on the walls with all my coloured textas. I made a rainbow with them. And at the end of the rainbow was me. Screaming. Shouting. Yelling. Summer. Summer. Summer. When you come back Mum will come back and Dad will come back and Ciara will come back and Summer I will talk for you if that’s what you want.

Today in hospital Summer was on life support. Dad got a coffee and Mum got a painkiller and Ciara and I got a juice and I threw it on the floor but wouldn’t say why. Mum will not cuddle me or keep me safe like she used to. Dad will not laugh at my funny faces. Ciara will not look at me with friendly adoring eyes and Summer will not wake up. I will talk for Summer. I want to talk for Summer. All I can think about it Summer. In bed I cry because I can’t say a word.

In school the people say “Crybaby” to me again and it makes me cry harder. They whisper it in my ear and they write it on my books and they etch it onto the side of the red plastic slide. The-lady-who-wears-too-much-perfume shouts at them when I silently show her the words written in messy handwriting on my books. She “did not realise such young innocent minds could commit such acts of cruelty to a poor child like me” Cry baby isn’t cruelty. Cry baby is true. I think about Mum the whole day and imagine her soft white arms wrapping around me, her long dark hair falling neatly over my head and shrouding me in a safe warm cocoon of nothing-ever-matters.

When I get home I open my arms to Mum but she sags onto a couch and says that we are getting into the car to see Summer. I silently struggle with her and try to wrap my arms around her waist but Mum is broken and I am broken and mad and I want to make noise for Summer but instead I throw my arms in the air and scratch the car windows and doors and this time when I see Summer I don’t cry for her cold body I stare at it and wish that she’d just. Wake. Up.
I’m a crybaby but I don’t talk
I love Summer so much that she hurts me.
The only thing in my twisted mind is Mad.

Angry at Summer and Mum and Dad and Ciara and all the ladies and Mrs Robinson and the people and the tree and the math and the tears and me and my stupid mouth and in my head it replays over and over and over again as I watch her fall.
We see Summer again today. It has been 3 weeks. 3 weeks since she climbed the tree. 3 weeks since I watched her fall. Just another 3 weeks of silence. Unbearable silence. If I could sing, laugh out loud, talk, even whisper for her it would be anything. The-lady-who-wears-too-much-perfume has given up on me. I won’t talk for anyone. I am too busy thinking about Summer, frozen, her hair getting lighter. Forgetting the sound of her voice. I stroke Summer’s cheek and softly brush her hair and watch as Ciara whispers to her. I cry like a baby because I watched her fall.
“Cry baby Cry baby” Is the taunting jeer that greets me when I enter school. “Summer, Summer” Is the awful whisper that greets me when I get home. If I could drag Mum and Dad out of their own skins they would see Ciara and I, struggling through each day. But no. All they see is Summer. All I see is Summer. Falling. In the back of my mind. And all of a sudden I can’t stand it. The silence makes me sick. If I could talk. If I could say a word for her. Anything. Anything. She won’t be able to hear. It will be silly. And I am Mad. Mad everyday. Textas and Barbies and Teddies and clothes thrown across the room with despair.
Mad walks into school everyday and glares and the people. Mad walks home and straight past unloving parents. Mad stares at Summer and despises her. Mad stares at Summer and loves her too much.
Today when we see her Mum and Dad cry for the first time in a long time. The nurses say things I can’t understand. Something triggers Ciara’s tears and I can’t understand it. I glare at the nurse in frustration. Next week is my birthday. I stay silent. 5 years in silence.
Everyday is the same. Mad follows the routine and watches Ciara beg Mum to go out to the store and buy us dinner. Mad watches Summer drop from the tree and Mad goes to therapy and Mad feels tears welling up in her eyes. Mad feels sick when Mad thinks of the silence. Mad remembers her birthday. 2 days. Mad visits Summer. Mad numbs the pain. Mad wishes for love.
1 day. The-lady-who-wears-too-much-perfume tells Mum that I am not getting enough attention. Mum is dreaming, floating through her mind with Summer, a dreamland where she is awake and everything is back to normal. I am not turning 7 until Summer wakes up. I am not doing work until Summer wakes up. I will talk for Summer, I tell myself every time I see her. Everytime I see her, I watch the branches snapping and her arms flailing and her hair whirling and every time I see her I stay silent. I am angry. I throw things across the hospital ward. The nurses struggle with my flailing arms and legs, trying to get a hold of me before I hurt people. But watching Mum and Dad so lovingly care for Summer sends me into a spiral of fury. I can’t stop it. I keep shoving Summer out of my mind as a fire burns in the bottom of my tummy. I don’t know why. I can’t tell why. The anger makes me sick and exhausted and tomorrow is my birthday and Mum and Dad are holding Summer so carefully and I am Hungry and Sad and Mad and Angry and there is nothing they can do to stop me. My insides rage, monster, caged, fire, terror. Mad is a monster and Mad feels sick and Angry and is so tired and a little string of vomit spurts out of Mad’s mouth but still Mad stays silent when all Mad wants to do is wail and Mad has lost control and can’t feel Mad’s legs. and.
Name: Sarah Allen Drew
Maiden name: Christie
Age: 46

History of medical issues: Yes
Psychological: Yes
Post Traumatic Anxiety Disorder
Anorexia Nervosa

Physical: No

Medication: tricyclic antidepressants
Type: trazodonetrazodone, venlafaxine, lorazepam



Name: Flynn Maximilian Drew
Age: 47

History of medical issues: Yes
Psychological: Yes
Bipolar 2 disorder

Physical: No

Medication: Mood stabilizers
Type: divalproex sodium,  lamotrigine


“Parents with problems make kids with problems” They made me sit on this dirty yellow couch. They pushed me down when I stood up. They whisper to themselves. Something on the paper. I was thrown into an x-ray. They said they looked at my head. The man with the white coat counted down from 10. The man in the white coat told me to think of ice-cream. I don’t like ice-cream. I think about Summer. Lying there. Where is Mum? Where is Dad?
“Anorexia”
“No wonder she’s so skinny”
“That doesn’t make sense”
“No not the kid, it’s the mum that’s got it”
“A wonder they’re not divorced”
“She’s not in a special school?”
“What medication?”
“Hasn’t been taken”
“They’re unstable”
“Accountant”
“Lawyer”
“Unfit parents”
“Poor kid and awful for a teenager to have to go through.”
“So why doesn’t she talk?”
Snippets of conversation are all I hear. I don’t feel anything. Again and again. Summer falls. Dropping. Terror.
Summer could make me laugh. Summer was all I trusted. I promised her I would speak for her.
“Come on, just one word. Pleeeease.”
I shake my head.
“I know you can talk”
I smile.
She smiles.
“You can’t be 7 without talking.”
I shake my head.
“On your birthday, you will speak.”
I shake my head.
“Do it for me. Please. On your birthday. It will be amazing. One word. Pleeease.”
I nod. I’ll try.
She smiles. I want more of that smile. I’ll do it for her. I’ll talk. I’ll say so many things. As long as I get to see Summer smile.
Tomorrow is my birthday. The doctors are still talking. Mum and Dad are not there. Ciara is not there. I am thinking about what Summer said and I am a crybaby again with tears dripping from my eyes. I hear them saying that a normal family wouldn’t be so deeply affected by this. They would be worried, of course. But they would go to work, stay hopeful. They would talk normally. I want to tell them about Mum. About her Sister. If they knew they wouldn’t be so mean. I want to tell them what Dad said about his Dad. He said he doesn’t drink beer like the other Dads do because of Grandpa. Grandpa I’ve never met. I bet they’re talking about that he doesn’t drink beer. Summer always asked him why he didn’t. I have to talk. I have to explain. Mouth opens. Mouth closes. Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk talk.
The man in the white coat comes up to me. He opens his mouth. Words come out. Deep, slow voice. Thinks i’m stupid. He grabs my hand, still talking. The words blow over me. Mad was a person who went to school and came home and wanted to scream. Crybaby was the girl who had a handle in her eyes, one touch and the tears would fall out. Summer’s girl was happy and wanted so desperately to talk for her. But I am not Summer’s girl and I am not Crybaby and I am not Mad. My heart is skipping beats. The man in the white coat is taking me to find Mum and Dad. Mum and Dad who I will hug and they will kiss me. Dad’s strong hairy arms will wrap around me and keep me close. Mum’s soft red lips will brush the top of my head. Mum and Dad who don’t care about me. The man in the white coat is steering me through a door. In a disgusting grey walled lift. Bright blue floor. Pale yellow walls. Youth ward. Summer. Summer. They’re taking me to Summer.
They’re taking me to Summer. To see Summer. I have to talk to her I have to I have to. The words are tumbling around in my head. Ranting raging screaming shouting. Swirling through my blood. Turning it from blue to the pale blonde of Summer’s hair. Tingling my bones. Snapping my veins. Bursting from my heart. It hurts. The pain. Summer is there. Her eyes are shut. Her hair is lying around her. Ugly white hospital gown. Ghostly pale. Veins and arteries sticking out from her veins. Chest rising and falling.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The life support machine shows her heart is steady. The X-ray shows my heart is steady. My head isn’t. If she leaves I have no one. Mad will come out and take over. Cry baby will come out and invade. Summer’s girl will slowly wither away. I will be trapped. In the centre of my heart. Sinking away into nothing. It’s all too much. Mad and Cry baby will not take over. I will. I will. I can. I can for Summer. My heart beat is mounting, climbing. Mum and dad are talking, Ciara is talking. The man in the white coat and the nurses are tending to Summer. Something inside of me is climbing up my throat. Grasping at the flesh. Stinging and stinging. I have to keep my mouth shut. Shut. Shut. Scratching at my teeth. It’s screaming in my ears. My skin is burning up. I am burning alive. The fire. Something is hurting me. There is a monster. Help. I need help. Help. The swim teacher said to cry for help. My mouth opens.
“Summer” The words explode from my mouth with the force of a tornado.
“Summer. Summer. Summer” Suddenly I can’t stop. She has to hear. Mum and Dad are staring. I am screaming her name. My lungs exploding from the effort. My voice is ringing in my ears. Violet’s voice. Violet. Violet. I am Violet. I am Violet and Violet can talk.
“Summer.” The longest scream. The loudest shout.
I am paralysed. Summer’s eyes are open. Staring. Staring at me. Her mouth is moving.
“Violet.” Summer says.

And I explode.

 by: Heidi Foster

Skinnier

Once,

She had friends

She had foes

She had flesh

Now,

She has blades

She has bones

She has bruises

The smaller she gets

The harder she tries

The less she eats

The bigger the lies

She thinks to herself

If she cuts off the fat,

If she slices it away,

It won’t come back

She’s better like this

She’s prettier

But she has to be,

Skinnier

Skinnier

She’s got a hollow chest

She’s the gap between her thighs

She’s got a hollow head

She’s a mouth full of lies

She’s supposed to be sweet

Little white lies and compliments

But you’ll find a grapefruit in her teeth

Bitter stones where her heart’s supposed to be

She’s better like this,

She’s prettier

She’s sour but prouder

She’s skinnier

Skinnier

- By Heidi Foster

Real Problems

You’ve just got to stop,

And consider for a moment.

All the people,

Who are actually broken,

You’ve just got to pause,

And think for a second.

Of all the people,

Who are actually threatened.

You’ve just got to cease,

And see for an instant.

All the people,

Whose actual existence,

Is actually threatened.

Of all the people,

Who at mealtime,

Don’t even have a half a dime,

To pay for everything they need.

The things they require,

To live and breathe,

For more than the next 24 hours.

Of all the people,

Who have disabilities,

But don’t have the utilities,

To stop them being anorexic.

To help them learn,

Even though they’re dyslexic,

So they can grow up and be happy.

Of all the people,

Plagued by war.

Bodies that are washed ashore,

On beaches found on far off islands,

Where they were killed.

From the bombs in the highlands,

Where nobody has a chance to live.

And yet somehow,

We still manage,

To complain of our disadvantage.

How today we were just so tired,

So much homework,

Our food wasn’t cooked as required.

Even though we have everything.

by Heidi Foster

Breaking The Ice

     I unzip my lunchbox and scrabble around in it with my eyes closed, eventually pulling out an apple. I put it back in and take out my round, blue and sacred box of Watermelon Ice Breakers. I shuffle into a more comfortable position in the scruffy green beanbag I’m sitting in. I used to normally sit in a really saggy blue beanbag, but one day it popped and all the little white beads came out. Now I sit in this green one, always facing the Dystopian section of the second floor in the library, so if I strain my eyes, I can scan the bookshelf for good book titles.
     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