Diary of a Grace by Sarra Manning Page B

grace, poppys sis. sorry abt lst nite. my dog had died & I ws upset. u must fink im an idiot bt ws irrational wi grief.’ That should be OK. Please let it be all right.
     
2nd June (later)
    Oh God. Just got a text message from Toph. Every time I read it my heart sinks. ‘Don’t ever contact me again, you silly little girl.’
     
1st July
    I finished my last exams and what with being grounded and having no life, I think I might have actually done quite well. But I have this feeling of, like, utter despair. I can count the number of friends I have on one finger. Or no fingers. Edie and Dylan are spending the summer inter-railing so they can look at art in dusty museums and go to flea markets. Darby and Jack are still coupling (in every sense of the word apparently). Poppy is an accident of birth and I can’t hang out with Marianne because I turn into a drunken slut.
     
10th July
    The time honoured tradition of getting a crappy summer job has been thrust upon me by my ’rents. Starting next week I get to wear a fun fur chicken costume (in the middle of summer!) and hand out fliers for a fried chicken emporium that is not KFC. I can see my life from here and it doesn’t look good.
     
15th July
    I don’t know why I did it to myself but I went to see Mellowstar last night, though I should have known that I’d sit there on my own being all moody and depressed-y. That’s the band I used to be in and there were far too many boys there who I’ve snogged because I was drunk and then threw up on. It didn’t help that although nobody actually wanted to talk to me because I’m the queen of awkward silence, they were all surreptitiously watching me to make sure that I didn’t drink.

In the end I couldn’t stand it and sneaked out of the backstage door to get some fresh air. I sat on a wall, listlessly swinging my feet and feeling sorry for myself. And once you start feeling sorry for yourself the tears start prickling at the back of your eyelids and trickling down your face. I squeezed my eyes shut but it did no good. Those tears just kept coming faster and faster and then I was having a full-on weep complete with runny nose and hiccupy sobs. My face was all scrunched up so it took me a while to focus on the high tops standing in front of me. They seemed familiar. I looked upwards at the jeans-clad legs that they were attached to, then The National t-shirt and finally my gaze rested on the concerned expression on Toph’s face.

‘Are you OK?’ he said. It was the first time that he’d actually spoken to me.

I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him. ‘Go ’way,’ I muttered in a low voice but he sat down on the wall next to me.

We sat there in silence for a while as I struggled to get myself under control. At last I managed to stop crying and wiped a sticky hand over my equally sticky face. I wished that Toph would leave. Why does he only see me when I’m making a complete twat of myself?

‘It’s hot isn’t it?’

‘I s’pose,’ I agreed after a pause.

‘So why were you crying?’ Toph turned to look at me but I ducked my head and stared at my feet. My nail polish was chipped.

I shrugged. ‘You don’t want to know why I was crying,’ I mumbled. ‘You’re pretending that you’re a genuinely nice person so I feel even more of an idiot.’

I know I’m not usually so wordy but I think the crying had lowered my defences.

‘Well, yeah, you do act like an idiot most of the time,’ Toph said casually and my heart sank even lower. It was currently somewhere around my knees. ‘But sitting out here on your own and crying makes me feel sorry for you so I guess that does make me a genuinely nice person,’ he continued.

‘People aren’t nice,’ I spluttered, feeling the tears trying for a repeat performance. ‘They suck. Everything sucks. Everything in the whole world.’

‘Wow, I never had you down as a nihilist,’ drawled Toph. I was sure his eyes were twinkling in the dim glow of