Sarah is thrown back into an ugly past when her old best-friend-turned-enemy kills herself. With the help of new smiles and old glares, she learns that some things just won't stay dead until you make peace with them.
Not my legs. Not my arms. Nor my fingers and my toes. Every cell of my body, numb.
But I could feel one thing - one, looming shadow of a thing that seemed to float above me like some slate-grey cloud, constantly building and never actually bursting.
Winter sunlight shone through the panes of my window, and I pulled the covers higher over my head, peering at one ray of light that shone onto my wall in a diagonal beam. Dust motes floated up and down through the white light, dancing free and weightless.
How I wished I could be one of them now. A simple, unnoticed speck, dancing free in the winter sun, unknown to the world and its problems.
Mum opened my door and scowled.
"Sarah," she complained, her obnoxious presence filling my room and making my head pound furiously, "It's half-seven! Why aren't you ready?"
I pulled the covers over my head, surrounding myself in temporary darkness. Mum wrenched the covers from my balled fists and a chill descended on my legs. I curled them up close to my chest.
"Sarah, get up please!" Mum said impatiently, "No more of this nonsense. Let's go!"
"I'm not going to school," I said to my pillow.
Mum came around to stand before me and sighed heartily, "Don't be ridiculous. I pay a lot of money for you to go to that school."
"I don't care," I said venomously, "I'm not going."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to."
Mum sat on my bed and put a hand on my arm.
"What's the matter? Is it something with your friends? Are people being mean to you?"
I cringed and pulled away.
"Leave me alone, Mum."
"Sarah," she tutted, "You have to talk to me. If there's something wrong I want to contact the school and sort it out. You're in Year 13! You can't miss a day over something like this."
"That's exactly why I don't tell you about my problems," I grumbled.
Mum stood with another impatient sigh, "I'm going to get your father." She left my room.
Great. I braced myself for what was to come.
"Sarah!" came Dad's voice from downstairs, "Come down here please!"
"No!" I yelled.
"Sarah," Dad yelled back, "If you don't come down in the next thirty seconds your phone is gone for a week."
"That's fine with me," I said.
Heavy footsteps stomped up the stairs.
"Sarah," said Dad in his vicious tone, "You can't expect your problems to go away by running away from them."
He was right, but I would never have admitted that even if I was dying.
"I'm. Not. Going."
Dad turned to leave my room, "You're not sitting around watching the telly all day," he said, and paused before closing my door.
"I'm very disappointed in you, Sarah."
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