Now There's Drama

30

Christie woke up at 5:55 that morning. She rolled out of bed and fell flat on the floor, groaning while pushing herself up with her weak forearms.

She clutched her stomach as the nausea caused the bile to rise in her throat and ran to the toilet heaving. Nothing came out. The nausea deepened as Christie saw herself in the mirror.

She parted her blonde hair straight down the mirror and brought the comb down, through the ringlets. Ten strokes on each side.

The next thing she attacked was her face. The unsightly bags under her eyes shone like a city on a hill. She opened the bathroom drawer and rifled through her sister's make-up kit before pulling out a container of concealer. The concealer was applied, only for it to be wiped off five times before Christie threw it back into the drawer and threw the make up wipe in the bin. She pushed her shoulders back and walked out of the bathroom.

"Get me out of here," she whispered.

Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world. Marilyn Monroe was most likely talking about high heels but the sentiment's right, Christie thought as she pulled on her Doc Martens. She tied and untied her laces five times even though each time she tied them they were tight enough and double knotted.

Just by wearing the shoes Christie felt rebellious (even if uniform policy couldn't officially pick her up for wearing them).

Her toast popped at exactly 7:15

By 8:14 she had checked the door lock fifteen times, fought with her sister over the concealer and sat in the car waiting for her mother and sister.

The morning was going to plan.

If Brielle kept fixing her hair Christie would be yelling in approximately two minutes.

Christie put her headphones in and clicked on a Diviynls' song. She turned the sound down so she could barely distinguish the song and listen to her parents. For two people trying to have a quiet conversation they were awfully loud.

"We can't keep her going like this. I want to start her on the antidepressants again," her mother said.

"Remember what happened last time, she wouldn't sleep, she refused to do anything and she lost any type of motivation she once had," her father said.

"Because you stopped her from using them one week in."

"She's a smart girl, if you take that away from her she has nothing that she believes is of worth."

Christie turned her music off, holding her shaking hands between her thighs.

Christie reached Astwright High School at 8:25, fifteen minutes until homeroom.

As she walked through the school gates heads turned. Christie dipped her head and clutched her laptop to her chest. The volume of her music increased. Her eyes flickered around. Six Year 7's. Four Year 9's. Two groups of four Year 11's. A group of four Year 10's. All of whom were staring at her.

"Christie!" Tegan yelled from the group of Year 10's.

Christie flinched at her voice and shuffled over and nestled into the group between Tegan and Delilah.

"Are we still on for this arvo?" Tegan asked.

Christie nodded once. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wesley offer Delilah a breakfast biscuit which Delilah broke and offered to Christie, who nibbled at it. Delilah rested her head against Christie's forearm, wrapping her arms around Christie's torso.

That day the five of them were called down to the school counsellor's separately. Twice in Marc and Christie's case.

Tegan was sent down to the deputy's office for losing it at her maths teacher, screaming that she would never need parabolas after leaving school.