Peeling the Onion by Wendy Orr

short week.
    'It's Mark's eighteenth next Saturday; do you want to come?'
    After three months of 'going out' we're actually going outl A real live date, like normal people have, not sitting around watching TV with little brothers and sisters.
    'Some guys from our school have a band; it should be good.'
    We've sparred together but never danced. I mightn't be much good on the fast dances, but slow will be okay, slow will be great—I really want to know how it feels, to be pressed against him with our arms around each other . . .
    'Will you have to wear your collar?'
    'I don't wear it for fun, you know! I have noticed that it's not the perfect fashion accessory!'
    'I just asked!'
    'Because you're ashamed to be seen with a freak!'
    'No! Because—look, I don't need this! Forget it, would you?'
    Rerun of our last slamming-door scene—screaming insults he can't hear, wondering whether I want to run after him or never see him again.
    I phone Jenny.
    'Why is he such a prick, Jen?'
    A few months ago she would have said, 'Because he's a man,' but since Costa's appeared, she's become a lot more deep and meaningful. 'I think he's pretty screwed up. He probably feels so guilty about you having to wear the collar that he hates to see you in it.'
    'But I'm the one that has to wear it! If I can deal with it, so should he!'
    'It's just because he cares about you.'
    'I don't know. I don't even know if he meant I should forget about the collar or going to the party. Maybe he means we should forget about us.'
    'Just call him. Sort it out—everything will be okay, you'll see.'
    Jenny in love, the eternal optimist. Thinks everyone should be as happy as she is.
    'I'll talk to you later—I've really got to go now. Costa and I are doing maths.'
    'Right. Just try and remember which figures you're supposed to be working on.'
    'Spoilsport. Now do what I told you—phone Hayden and sort it out. Promise?'
    'I guess so.'
    A cup of coffee; a walk around the house. I feel sick; my hands are so sweaty they slip on the buttons. I don't know what I'll do if Hayden dumps me. Everything else in my life is going wrong; I need something stable.
    If he doesn't answer himself I'll hang up. Maybe I'll hang up anyway. My voice comes out in such a silly squeak I have to start coughing as an excuse.
    'Anna, I'm sorry.'
    'I shouldn't have got so upset.'
    'I just thought you'd have a better time if you didn't have to wear your collar.'
    'Yeah. I'll see. I won't have to wear it forever, you know.'
    'I know! Look, I've got to go. I've got a heap of homework. I'll pick you up Saturday, about eight.'
    I've worn my collar all day; I had my rest after lunch and I'm resting again after dinner. I'm going to look like a normal person when I go to this party.
    Mum comes into my room. 'I know you're nearly eighteen, but—'
    (Why is there always a but?)
    '—don't forget that anything you drink will be enhanced by your painkillers. And with your balance ...'
    'People will think I'm drunk! Do you think that's the worst thing I've got to worry about?'
    'I think falling over and hurting yourself is something to worry about! As well as any girl's . . . the usual problems of losing self-control when you've had too much to drink.'
    'Falling into the back seat of Hayden's car in a fit of drunken passion?'
    'If you want to put it like that.'
    'I don't think you've got anything to worry about. I'll let you know if I get luckier.'
    'Very funny. It's just—I know you're sensible, but with all this—I can't help worrying about you.'
    'I've noticed.'
    Good start to an evening. A patched-up truce with my boyfriend; a nearly-fight with my mother. It's got to improve.
    But not by Dad talking to Hayden. 'You're driving?'
    'Dad!'
    'You can't blame him, Anna.'
    Just watch me.
    'I'm not trying to be difficult,' Dad goes on, winding himself up to be as difficult as possible, 'but I can remember what it was like to be young—and if it were my best friend's