feel like a leper. Slight overreaction .
Irritatingly, I’ve forgotten my French textbook, so I have to scoot closer to share Jasmine’s. She doesn’t acknowledge me. Great. Thanks a lot. I love being ignored. It’s not like I already feel invisible most of the time .
Without preamble, Madame Girard launches into revision of French verbs. I do my best to focus, but my gaze is drawn toJasmine. I try to catch her eye. It works, but she instantly looks away.
Wait! I looked right at her! This is huge! I can usually only manage eye contact with Mum, and even then I feel awkward. Does this mean I might be getting better? Is it possible—?
You’ll never change.
I jolt so much my chair scrapes across the floor.
Madame Girard glowers at me. ‘ Êtes-vous bien , Megan?’
I nod and blush, leaning forward so I can pretend to study the textbook.
‘Megan?’ The school receptionist sticks her head around the door. ‘Mr Finnigan would like to see you.’
The blood freezes in my veins. I get up and follow her to the head’s office.
Mr Harwell is waiting inside. I peek up at his face. One of his cheeks is slightly flushed. I can’t believe I did that. I shouldn’t have lost it.
‘Megan, Mr Harwell has reported that you assaulted him in your session today.’
Assaulted. Such a cruel word. A criminal word.
‘This is absolutely unacceptable, Megan. Do you understand?’
I nod.
‘We’ve spoken to your mother,’ my stomach spasms, ‘and have agreed two weeks of lunchtime detentions, starting tomorrow. Mr Harwell is prepared to continue working withyou, provided you apologise and assure him that it won’t happen again.’
I nod and point at a fancy fountain pen on Mr Finnigan’s desk. He pushes it towards me and watches as I write my apology.
‘I’m disappointed, Megan. Mr Harwell is an excellent, newly qualified psychologist who is more than capable of helping you. I suggest you start allowing him to do so.’
I nod. But I can’t let him help me. I can’t risk revealing the truth.
You need to keep this a secret, understand?
If I don’t keep my mouth shut, people will find out what really happened to Hana at the ridge. They’ll find out what a monster I am.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I mean, seriously, what the hell, Megan? You hit your psychologist?’
Apparently .
‘What will people think? That I didn’t bring you up properly? I’m so embarrassed.’
I scrawl: That’s all you ever worry about – what people think. What about what I think? What about why I did it?
‘Well, go on then. Explain it to me. Why did you do it?’
I just stare at her.
‘I thought so. God, I wish Gramps was here. He was the only one who could get through to you. I just don’t understand you, Megan!’
I leave her desperately puffing on an e-cigarette and disappear to my room. I wonder whether to text Jasmine. I didn’t see her at lunch – I hid in the library – and she wasn’t on the bus home. I spent several panicky minutes convincedshe was avoiding me, that I’d ruined everything, until I remembered she’d planned to stay and work on some Art coursework.
I write:
I’m sorry xxx
She makes me wait twenty minutes before replying.
It’s OK. What happened? X
Two weeks of detention. Mum hit the roof :( Am hiding in my room xxx
A reply comes back a few minutes later:
Poor you. *Hugs* Want to come round for tea? Xxx
Meet her family? I don’t know.
Mum’s making mezze. They want to meet you xxx
I grin.
Will check with Mum xxx
Bring some of your pics if she says yes. I really want to see them! Xxx
Downstairs, Mum reads the note I’ve written, then looks long and hard at me. ‘I should ground you,’ she says.
You’ve never grounded me in your life!
‘But I won’t, because I want to watch Pimp Your Pooch while I eat, and I can’t be dealing with you sighing all over it. Make sure you come home in a better mood.’ She gives me a wry smile. ‘Off you go! Before I change my mind!’
‘Muuuum!’
Irritatingly, I’ve forgotten my French textbook, so I have to scoot closer to share Jasmine’s. She doesn’t acknowledge me. Great. Thanks a lot. I love being ignored. It’s not like I already feel invisible most of the time .
Without preamble, Madame Girard launches into revision of French verbs. I do my best to focus, but my gaze is drawn toJasmine. I try to catch her eye. It works, but she instantly looks away.
Wait! I looked right at her! This is huge! I can usually only manage eye contact with Mum, and even then I feel awkward. Does this mean I might be getting better? Is it possible—?
You’ll never change.
I jolt so much my chair scrapes across the floor.
Madame Girard glowers at me. ‘ Êtes-vous bien , Megan?’
I nod and blush, leaning forward so I can pretend to study the textbook.
‘Megan?’ The school receptionist sticks her head around the door. ‘Mr Finnigan would like to see you.’
The blood freezes in my veins. I get up and follow her to the head’s office.
Mr Harwell is waiting inside. I peek up at his face. One of his cheeks is slightly flushed. I can’t believe I did that. I shouldn’t have lost it.
‘Megan, Mr Harwell has reported that you assaulted him in your session today.’
Assaulted. Such a cruel word. A criminal word.
‘This is absolutely unacceptable, Megan. Do you understand?’
I nod.
‘We’ve spoken to your mother,’ my stomach spasms, ‘and have agreed two weeks of lunchtime detentions, starting tomorrow. Mr Harwell is prepared to continue working withyou, provided you apologise and assure him that it won’t happen again.’
I nod and point at a fancy fountain pen on Mr Finnigan’s desk. He pushes it towards me and watches as I write my apology.
‘I’m disappointed, Megan. Mr Harwell is an excellent, newly qualified psychologist who is more than capable of helping you. I suggest you start allowing him to do so.’
I nod. But I can’t let him help me. I can’t risk revealing the truth.
You need to keep this a secret, understand?
If I don’t keep my mouth shut, people will find out what really happened to Hana at the ridge. They’ll find out what a monster I am.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I mean, seriously, what the hell, Megan? You hit your psychologist?’
Apparently .
‘What will people think? That I didn’t bring you up properly? I’m so embarrassed.’
I scrawl: That’s all you ever worry about – what people think. What about what I think? What about why I did it?
‘Well, go on then. Explain it to me. Why did you do it?’
I just stare at her.
‘I thought so. God, I wish Gramps was here. He was the only one who could get through to you. I just don’t understand you, Megan!’
I leave her desperately puffing on an e-cigarette and disappear to my room. I wonder whether to text Jasmine. I didn’t see her at lunch – I hid in the library – and she wasn’t on the bus home. I spent several panicky minutes convincedshe was avoiding me, that I’d ruined everything, until I remembered she’d planned to stay and work on some Art coursework.
I write:
I’m sorry xxx
She makes me wait twenty minutes before replying.
It’s OK. What happened? X
Two weeks of detention. Mum hit the roof :( Am hiding in my room xxx
A reply comes back a few minutes later:
Poor you. *Hugs* Want to come round for tea? Xxx
Meet her family? I don’t know.
Mum’s making mezze. They want to meet you xxx
I grin.
Will check with Mum xxx
Bring some of your pics if she says yes. I really want to see them! Xxx
Downstairs, Mum reads the note I’ve written, then looks long and hard at me. ‘I should ground you,’ she says.
You’ve never grounded me in your life!
‘But I won’t, because I want to watch Pimp Your Pooch while I eat, and I can’t be dealing with you sighing all over it. Make sure you come home in a better mood.’ She gives me a wry smile. ‘Off you go! Before I change my mind!’
‘Muuuum!’
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