All That Glitters

My eyes are smarting, my vision is starting to wobble and my throat feels like there’s a sofa cushion stuck in it.

Then my phone beeps.

How was your first day?? Tell me tell me! Nat xxx

How am I supposed to answer that with any self-respect?

A-maz-ing!! SO MUCH FUN!! Couldn’t have gone better!!! Can’t wait for two more whole years of this!!!! Hxx

With a lie, that’s how.

I put my phone away, hiding my face behind my hair so Steve can’t see my chin starting to crumple.

“It’s all right, love,” he says, giving me an awkward pat on the back as I head towards the school gates. “Those nasty little minxes will get what’s coming to them.”

“Sure they will,” I say over my shoulder, even though I know they obviously won’t.

Because Alexa’s right.

There’s a big difference between not-popular and unpopular, and I hadn’t even noticed that until I was on the other side. I may have spent years struggling to make friends at school, but this is the first time since I was five that I’ve had none.

And of the two options, I can’t decide which is worse:

a) being brought down a peg or two every school day of your life for eleven years

or

b) finally being so far at the bottom that there’s nowhere left to go.

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hey say that every cloud has a silver lining.

Which is obviously untrue.

Most clouds don’t: just the rain clouds with the sun directly behind them. Given the size of the sky, that makes it statistically uncommon.

However, I’d like to think that I’m the kind of person who at least looks for the sunshine. A positive, optimistic girl, who hopes for the best even when the signs aren’t looking good.

And – let’s be honest – they’re really not right now.

At all.

The first schools were established in 425 AD. I’d be quite surprised if anyone has had a less successful first day in the history of formal education.

On the upside, at least I’ll be able to focus on my schoolwork properly now. Without any distractions or discussions or interesting debates. All day, every day, for the next two years.

Most of the evenings too.

And possibly quite a few weekends, if Nat gets really busy with college.

Oh my God.

Of all the planets in our solar system, we would weigh the most on Jupiter. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve somehow accidentally ended up there instead.

Bits of the day are beginning to rattle around inside my head like coloured balls inside a lottery machine, and every time they collide with each other, another little piece of me gets heavier.

I like bananas! My lungs. I’ve got this one! My tongue. It’s a mushroom! My kidneys and liver. Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Maybe you could leave me alone? Eyeballs, spleen, pancreas, veins, muscles.

She’s not worth it: every single one of my bones.

Until, organ by organ, I weigh so much I’m surprised I don’t have to drag myself down the road by my fingernails.

Finally, I manage to reach the bench on the corner of the road where Nat and I have met every morning for the last ten years, even when our parents had to come with us.

I stand and look at how empty it is.

Then I turn around again and start walking towards the only place in the world that could possibly make me feel lighter again.

The local launderette.

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o, in case you’re wondering.

I haven’t been back here since Annabel and Dad broke up and then had their big romantic laundry reunion nearly a year ago. Initially, I thought it was because it had become their place, not mine any more. Then I thought it was because I’d just worked out how to clean my clothes for free at home, like a normal human being.

But now I’m wondering if it’s simply because I haven’t needed it the way I need it now.

When I don’t know where else to go.

I still love this place.

I love the bright lights, the soapy smells, the soft purring of the machines. I love the heat and the shininess of the glass in the tumble driers. But most of all I love the way that nothing could ever feel alone in a place where so many things are jumbled together.

I rub my eyes and pull a chair over to my favourite machine. The glass is still warm, and there are baskets filled with piles of abandoned clothes everywhere. Somebody’s even left a shoe behind: it’s peeking out from behind a particularly large heap of jumpers and underwear.

I pull a blue sock out of my bag and a memory suddenly flashes: snow, warm cheeks, a cold hand squeezing mine.

So I swallow and put it in the drier as quickly as I can.

Then I start fumbling through my satchel for the fifty pence I need to put it on a quick spin. Followed by another fifty pence.

Then another pound in shrapnel.

And a two pound-coin.

After the day I’ve had I may be here some time. I am about to own the driest sock in existence.