people,’ I hear my sister say angrily as the boys run off.
As I turn to face her, I realise that she has been crying again.
‘Belle, listen, I didn’t tell anyone I tried to kill myself. Mum just decided that, and I tried to put her straight but she didn’t listen.’
‘You think I care about that? God, not everything is about you, Mia,’ she snaps.
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself saying something in temper.
Belle drops a white folder covered in pictures of confetti, rings and champagne glasses, and quotes like “happily ever after” and “YOLO: You only love once” plastered across it, down on the table. As she sits down and places her head in her hands I realise I have two choices: I can leave as fast as my legs will allow me before she has the chance to say anything else, or I can ask her what the matter is and face the consequences of whatever that may be. As much as I want to do the former, I can’t leave her here like this.
‘What’s wrong, Belle?’ I ask, rubbing Bridezilla’s shoulder without getting too close.
‘The florist doing the flowers for the wedding,’ I know what a florist is… ‘they’ve cancelled. Something about a death in the family. Well I hope they can’t get flowers for the funeral,’ she yells. Yikes, she’s in full-on crazy mode.
‘Come on, calm down. We can fix this,’ I assure her, but she’s having none of it.
‘My wedding is cursed,’ Belle insists. ‘Even if we sort this, something else will just go wrong.’
‘Well, whatever goes wrong, we’ll fix it. Your wedding is
not
cursed,’ I insist. ‘Good luck and bad luck aren’t real, if you believe you have bad luck then you will. It’s like: is the glass half full or half empty? It just depends how you look at it.’
‘What glass? What are you talking about?’ my sister snaps, clearly annoyed by my attempt to make her feel better.
‘What I’m saying is that you need to stop thinking your wedding is cursed or it will be. Let’s just fix this problem.’
‘How?’ she sobs.
‘We’ll find a new florist, it’s not rocket science. Let me go get my iPad, I’ll find you one.’
‘You’d do that for me?’ my sister asks, baffled by my kindness.
‘Yeah. Well I am head bridesmaid, aren’t I?’
‘A nice one though? Not a horrible one to make me look stupid?’
I grit my teeth as I head up to my room to grab my iPad. She’s lucky I’m not the person she thinks I am or she’d definitely end up with disgusting flowers after planting that seed in my brain.
***
‘Hey Hannah,’ I say as I pass my fifteen-year-old cousin on the corridor outside my bedroom.
‘Wow, what are those on your feet?’ she asks.
‘Oh, you like them? They’re barefoot sandals. They’re great for the beach because they’re not like wearing shoes, but they look awesome.’
‘I love them! Do you have any more?’
‘Yeah, of course. Do you want to borrow some?’ I offer happily.
Hannah nods excitedly.
Hannah Edwards is exactly the kind of girl who would have bullied me if we went to school together. Lucky for me I’m her older cousin with the awesome clothes and the movie star best friends, which means I am useful to her every now and then. She is tall with an athletic figure – which makes sense, being a popular kid and being good at PE kind of go hand in hand – and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her long brown hair tied up in a sporty but oh-so-cool ponytail. Like any teenager today she forever has her phone in her hand, not that anyone knows what she’s doing on it.
As I rifle around in the suitcase I never truly unpacked (just in case I need to run for my life) Hannah sits down on my bed.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Hannah says quietly.
‘Of course,’ I reply as I search through my things that are now all over the floor.
‘When you were my age, could you talk to your mum?’
‘Could I talk to my mum? I could hardly look at her,’ I laugh. ‘But seriously, no. Not
As I turn to face her, I realise that she has been crying again.
‘Belle, listen, I didn’t tell anyone I tried to kill myself. Mum just decided that, and I tried to put her straight but she didn’t listen.’
‘You think I care about that? God, not everything is about you, Mia,’ she snaps.
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself saying something in temper.
Belle drops a white folder covered in pictures of confetti, rings and champagne glasses, and quotes like “happily ever after” and “YOLO: You only love once” plastered across it, down on the table. As she sits down and places her head in her hands I realise I have two choices: I can leave as fast as my legs will allow me before she has the chance to say anything else, or I can ask her what the matter is and face the consequences of whatever that may be. As much as I want to do the former, I can’t leave her here like this.
‘What’s wrong, Belle?’ I ask, rubbing Bridezilla’s shoulder without getting too close.
‘The florist doing the flowers for the wedding,’ I know what a florist is… ‘they’ve cancelled. Something about a death in the family. Well I hope they can’t get flowers for the funeral,’ she yells. Yikes, she’s in full-on crazy mode.
‘Come on, calm down. We can fix this,’ I assure her, but she’s having none of it.
‘My wedding is cursed,’ Belle insists. ‘Even if we sort this, something else will just go wrong.’
‘Well, whatever goes wrong, we’ll fix it. Your wedding is
not
cursed,’ I insist. ‘Good luck and bad luck aren’t real, if you believe you have bad luck then you will. It’s like: is the glass half full or half empty? It just depends how you look at it.’
‘What glass? What are you talking about?’ my sister snaps, clearly annoyed by my attempt to make her feel better.
‘What I’m saying is that you need to stop thinking your wedding is cursed or it will be. Let’s just fix this problem.’
‘How?’ she sobs.
‘We’ll find a new florist, it’s not rocket science. Let me go get my iPad, I’ll find you one.’
‘You’d do that for me?’ my sister asks, baffled by my kindness.
‘Yeah. Well I am head bridesmaid, aren’t I?’
‘A nice one though? Not a horrible one to make me look stupid?’
I grit my teeth as I head up to my room to grab my iPad. She’s lucky I’m not the person she thinks I am or she’d definitely end up with disgusting flowers after planting that seed in my brain.
***
‘Hey Hannah,’ I say as I pass my fifteen-year-old cousin on the corridor outside my bedroom.
‘Wow, what are those on your feet?’ she asks.
‘Oh, you like them? They’re barefoot sandals. They’re great for the beach because they’re not like wearing shoes, but they look awesome.’
‘I love them! Do you have any more?’
‘Yeah, of course. Do you want to borrow some?’ I offer happily.
Hannah nods excitedly.
Hannah Edwards is exactly the kind of girl who would have bullied me if we went to school together. Lucky for me I’m her older cousin with the awesome clothes and the movie star best friends, which means I am useful to her every now and then. She is tall with an athletic figure – which makes sense, being a popular kid and being good at PE kind of go hand in hand – and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her long brown hair tied up in a sporty but oh-so-cool ponytail. Like any teenager today she forever has her phone in her hand, not that anyone knows what she’s doing on it.
As I rifle around in the suitcase I never truly unpacked (just in case I need to run for my life) Hannah sits down on my bed.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Hannah says quietly.
‘Of course,’ I reply as I search through my things that are now all over the floor.
‘When you were my age, could you talk to your mum?’
‘Could I talk to my mum? I could hardly look at her,’ I laugh. ‘But seriously, no. Not
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