Chocolate heaven.

It is November 2013. My favourite lesson is English. But not today, it is my first day at a new school. In this school they call register by your second name.

“Small”

“Here, Miss Charm.”

Giggles spread through the classroom and even ten minutes after my name was called there was still a girl spluttering to herself at the back. Most other people say their name is ‘Jones’ or ‘Smith’. Not me, Ingrid Small.

Aged 14 and I have been to five different schools, two of them were in Russia. That’s where I’m from originally. This is the 6th school and I’m not looking forward to it.

“Ingrid, today we are writing a story about chocolate.” I groan, why do they have to address me directly? Secondly I don’t like chocolate. No-one understands.

It makes my mouth burn and feel sore. If I eat more than one square I feel sick. And the colour makes me wince; I like white chocolate and dark cooking chocolate. But I hate the taste and colour of milk chocolate. I don’t like any brown food except maybe coca-cola. And even then the ice makes my teeth feel sore.

I don’t really want to write about chocolate. So I write about a girl who doesn’t want to write about chocolate. Her name is Izzy Smith.

End of school, Thank God. I like to run. But I don’t like running home, because people stare at me and I don’t like being at home. My mum shouts and my baby brother cries and I have no privacy. My dad is ill in hospital and no-one thinks he will come out ever. Don’t they have any hope...?

When I get home my Mum is in bed and my baby brother is shrieking in his cot. What a life! I fetch him and try to calm him down. I put the telly on and the phone rings, I leave Jake on the sofa and speed walk to get the phone before the other person hangs up.

“Hello, who is this?” I ask as always when I pick up the phone.

“Hello Ingrid. This is your Dad.” I have a mini breakdown, Dad is in hospital. In a coma.

“Ummmm. Dad.” I ask cautiously, my voice has gone all squeaky.

“Hi, Ingrid is your Mum there?”

“No, sorry” I say, she doesn’t need to wake up. Maybe I could talk to him alone.

“Ok. Bye.” He said then hung up.

Welcome to my life with my family. My Mum suffers from depression since my Dad fell ill and went into a coma. My baby brother screams all the time, and my Dad doesn’t acknowledge my existence.

In English I think more about my character, Izzy Smith. I could make her life perfect, nothing wrong would ever happen to her. The teacher read my first paragraph and said, remember to include chocolate in your story. Chocolate. I hate chocolate.

The teacher asks everyone in the class to say the basic plot of their story out loud. A girl named Ebony Adams starts off.

“Well, my story is about a girl called Naomi Richards and she finds a chocolate bar, um it makes her look pretty...” I decide that I don’t like Ebony Adams. Nearly as much as I don’t like chocolate.

When I get home my Mum gives me a bar of chocolate, which I thank her for. And give to Jake.

“Mum.” I scream up the stairs, like teenagers do.

“Yes, Ingrid.” She screams back. If she had come down stairs to see me and replaced ‘Ingrid’ with ‘Sweetie’ you could have called her a good mother.

“I’m going out” I roar.

“Ok.”

Again, if she had asked me where I was going she would have been a better mother. I turn up at the library at 4:30 and sit down with my English book and try to write a story about chocolate. I write until my arm aches then rest for a while, I have written seven whole pages of A4 paper. My introduction is nearly finished.