The Twice-Lived Summer of Bluebell Jones by Susie Day

out of frame. Merlin, sulking on a London bus. Joanie and the Whales, underlit and hazy, before a pulsing crowd. Mum holding one drumstick to point at her Peanut-belly, like an arrow. Dad’s bum.
    Me, in silhouette, a black shadow perfectly framed by the bright white light of the sun.
    It’s the picture Merlin took on the island. Low angle so my legs are a mile long, crisp edges on the tufty grass, a blurry halo round the shape of my body, a corona round the top hat on my head, focus melting under the contrast. The chance composition is textbook. I could wait my whole life to take a picture that good.
    â€œThat one, wow, you look amazing ,” says Fozzie, staring at the print.
    I do. It’s the first time I really start to believe it. This odd Blue skin of mine will shape itself into my bright Red future: will contain all of her.
    But all I can think when I look at the photo is that in my silhouetted pocket is a phone that will ring, and across the water Mum is already in hospital.
    I turn away, hugging my ankles, chin on one knee.
    â€œWhat’s up? Blue – are you OK?” Fozzie settles on her knees next to me, then her hand goes to her mouth. “Is it your mum? Was it worse than they thought?”
    I shake my head. “She’s fine. I’m fine, it’s . . . it’s no big deal. I’ve just got some stuff going on.”
    Fozzie wrinkles her forehead. “I could help, maybe? If you told me about it?”
    I look at her, neatly folded on the floor, all concern.
    I want to. I want to tell her everything, right now. The whole lot.
    â€œI’ve got this friend,” I start. My mouth feels dry, my neck damp and sweaty, and I wonder for a second if there’s another one of those vomit-inducing wish rules, like the no-touching one, about keeping Red a secret. “And, well, this person is taking up a lot of space in my brain. It’s all I can think about at the moment.”
    â€œAnyone I know?” says Fozzie, a fraction too casually, as if she knows what I’m going to say.
    â€œNo,” I say firmly. “You definitely, absolutely have not met this person.”
    â€œUh-huh,” says Fozzie. A knowing smile spreads across her face.
    Could she know? Has she seen Red all along? Is that why she didn’t mind about the sick on her shoes? Should I really, really tell her, right now?
    â€œThis friend of mine, she’s kind of doing my head in.”
    â€œOh,” says Fozzie, sitting back in surprise. “You said she ?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Fozzie giggles. “Sorry. I thought you were talking about Merlin.”
    â€œ Merlin? Why would I be talking about Merlin?” I like Merlin. Merlin doesn’t try to mess with my head and steal my mum. Well, he tries to mess with my head a little bit, but only when he’s doing a card trick.
    â€œNo reason,” says Fozzie, blinking a lot. “So, this friend, who I don’t know?”
    â€œI really like her, don’t get me wrong. She’s quite, uh, similar to me. A more advanced version of me. What I might be like if I was, say, for example, a year older. Right?”
    â€œRight,” says Fozzie, frowning.
    â€œAnd most of the time, that’s all great – and she helps me out – and I’m totally grateful because she is kind of amazing and of course I want to be more like her—”
    â€œM-hmm,” says Fozzie, still frowning.
    â€œBut I found out she lied to me. About something big.”
    â€œI never!” squeaks Fozzie.
    I blink at her, confused.
    â€œOh,” she breathes, rocking back on her heels. “You don’t mean me. It’s that girl who phones you up, isn’t it? Your invisible friend, Dan calls her. Only joking. God, check out my big head. Sorry.”
    She looks mortified.
    â€œI wish it was you I was talking about,” I say into my knees. “You make a lot more sense.”
    â€œBloody hell,