Young Writers Society

It was English Lit, never the most exciting lesson, but never the worst.

The note was on the orange paper of the questions sheet we were suppposed to be answering. In red ink, rocking handwriting that reminded me of spiderwebs, was scribbled If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterlies

She was always good at coming up with the right philosophical metaphors at the right times. I smiled, folded it gently and carefully hid it in my compact mirror, like a precious special secret all for me.

Thanks, I smiled to her, without words.

She winked in a cheesey fashion - (That's what I'm here for!)

The change wasn't just my parents splitting up, my dad leaving for South America a few days before. I respected my parent's decision, if they no longer loved each other, why should they stay together? It was my mum, she'd changed. She ignored Grace when she cried, she left the washing up in the sink, she didn't speak to anyone, she just hid in her room and worried me to death with whatever she was up to in there. Sadly I could see no butterflies in that. But it cheered me up all the same, even if only momentarily.

The bell went. She disappeared before I could stop her. My heart sank and I physically drooped. I let her down.

I walked out into the busy corridor, looked up and down it for the shocks of bright red in her dark hair. Nowhere. I walked aimlessly down other corridors, searching desperately. Eventually I gave up, my eyes glazing over and my thoughts wandering.

An old friend came over. "I'm so sorry about your parents!" she said, hugging me, squeezing my sore arm hard. "Was it just like rowing all the time? Or did your dad have an affair or something? Or was your mum too depressed for him to handle? Well it must've hit you hard 'cause you look awful! Cheer up!" And then she clapped me around the back in a jokey way, only she nearly winded me. I let her leave without saying a word.

Then the first person I bumped into as I turned the corner was Jack. We both stopped, about four inches between our noses. He looked at me, his ice blue laser eyes boring a hole in my head. He looked at my arms, the sleeves having been subconciously rolled up. Then he looked back to the brains spilling from the hole he made, disgusted, and walked away.

I let the breeze that followed in his wake play across my face as I pulled my pieces back together. The usual feeling of violence and anger boiled in my veins and I hovered to the nearest toilet, my mind on bad thoughts.

I locked myself in a cubicle and leaned against the wall, opening the front pocket of my bag. It wasn't there. I couldn't find it. But then something else fell out, my compact mirror. The bell went, but I stayed put. I re read the note, my mind went blissfully blank, just tracing the letters with my finger. Pretty letters. Sweet letters. Sweet Suzie.

Ten minutes must have passed as I stood, letting my mind swim everywhere but around certain islands. Suddenly I remembered I had a science class.

I rushed in late, mumbled an apology to the teacher and went to the spare seat at the back. On the way Suzie mouthed "You ok?" She passed a note back, red ink again, Come with me at lunch, we can talk.

At the end of the lesson she waited for me, we automatically headed up to our usual spot under this tree no one ever seemed to notice. Jack walked the other way, he gave me a look of pure evil. Suzie grabbed my wrist and squeezed, and dragged me to this side, giving him a wide berth. We got to the tree and she continued to hold my wrist, her eyes on mine warningly. She casted all demons from my mind.

A breeze swirled her black hair, making the red streaks seem like flames licking at a witch. She dropped the look and hugged me. She was great at that. Always warm. I always thought she was like a skeleton key, the way she fitted everone perfectly in hugs.

She knew what I went to do. She knew the thoughts that rained on my mush for a brain.

I knew what she disappeared to do. She knew I would've stopped her had I had the chance. It was the chewing gum that gave it away, and the speed at which she had left.

She was persistant in finding out if I did what I went to do. Finding out how much I'd done it recently. How fresh my arm was.

I was persistant in making her admit to what shed done. Making her tell me why she'd done it, how "under control" it really was.

We spent half an hour like this. I tried to make her eat some of my lunch but she refused. I felt like forcing it down her acid burnt throat.

Then she laughed as, with lack of anything else to do, I burst into song and rolled a leaf into a joint.

"God I love you Indie," she laughed.

I mulled over the irony for many hours.