Messed Up



The next morning, I stare at my cereal and wonder if I can convince Mum I’m too sick for school. I’m in the middle of dragging a spoonful into my mouth when I hear a tap on the kitchen window. I look up – it’s Mark, and he’s grinning at me and beckoning me outside.

“A minute!” I mouth at him.

I bolt my brekkie, run to my bedroom, chuck on a clean uniform, and race down the hall and outside.

“Geez, took you long enough!” he says, smiling, “Come on, let’s get walking!”

“Walk all the way?”

He shrugs.

“We’ve got time…”

“Does this mean you forgive me for that crap yesterday?” I ask, tentatively, but I’ve gotta know.

He frowns, and my heart sinks. I was meant to pretend it never happened, I guess.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and puts an arm around my shoulders, “it was stupid, I shouldn’t have yelled at you, OK? It’s all so screwy, my head’s messed up, and I yelled at you instead of getting myself sorted. Except…” he frowns and looks down at the footpath, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get this sorted, it’s too big and messy.”

You’re apologising? I’m confused.” I say, smirking because it looks like we’re cool again.

“Fine. We’re both morons. Happy?” he says and pokes his tongue out at me.

“You are such a child.”

“Are not.”


A classmate, Lisa, comes up to me after maths and walks beside me to the caf.

“Hey, are you and Mark together?” she asks, finally.

I laugh. Darn, of all the days to get a question like that.

“Nah, we’re just friends,” I tell her.

“Oh. OK.” she says, and wanders off without bothering to tell me why she’s interested.

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