When I was little, a year seemed like the longest thing in the world. Do you know what i mean? Winters, in my head, were snowier than they actually were, while summers were all paddling pools and bubblegum ice pops. And then, as i got older, time almost ground to a halt - staring out of windows; one Netflix episode rolling right into the next; waiting for my friends in Korea to come online. The last summer before we moved, I can hardly remember going outside at all.
But then it changed. This year, the fabric of time itself changed, I swear. Bear with me. Although the records show there were indeed 365.24 days, each made of twenty-four hours, I fail to believe they were the same minutes I used to wish away. The metronome switched up a gear, the world turned faster - so much so that these days I find myself desperately clinging to milliseconds as the slip through my fingers like water. If I'm honest, this year was a club remix - it was when the beat kicked in.
A lot can happen in a year.First day at Brocube Cliffs Academy, too old to be a new girl. Schools are schools, right? To make things worse, my brand-new cherry-red Docs were already scraping away my heels. At their current rate, by the end of the day, bone would be exposed. As i joined the drizzle-damp procession of pupils filing through the student entrance, I wore my Unimpressed Face. I always think Unimpressed Face is a good default. Better than Needy Face , Try-hard Face or Victim Face. I was getting the full-body scan: Who is she? Is she new? Is she pretty-and-by-that-I-mean-competition? I wondered how long it would last for. I didn't like the spotlight one little bit, I felt . . . lumpy.
I'd been told, via a letter from the head of sixth form, to report to 'The Hall' for assembly at nine. I'd arrived late on purpose to avoid awkward mingling in a sea of strangers. Like i didn't feel exposed enough already. I was pretty sure I'd make friends sooner or later, I wished they were waiting for me on arrival like an airport driver with a name card. Oh it was fine. I could feel the corner of a book poking into my back through my bag. As i recall I was on my annual reread of Seventeen's Disses. You're never truly by yourself when you have a book in your bag.
YOU ARE READING
Best friend? Boyfriend? Soulmate? Or.. all of the above
RomantikIt would be neater, wouldn't it, if this was a story about self harm or sexuality or eating disorders or ridiculously hot bass players, but it's a story about all if them. Yeah, it's a mess.. And it's about to get messier.