Starting Over Read Free Page A

- again watched by envious admirers. Joe teaching me French. Me reading him poetry. Joe and I in the art room, having fun, having a paint fight. Joe and I running for the school team -joint winners. Joe and I. Joe and I.
So weird,
I thought,
all these feelings going through me today. Anxiety about starting over tomorrow - that’s a sour feeling. Then I think of Joe Donahue and it’s sweet. Sweet and sour. I am clearly in the Chinese-takeaway phase of my life.

Chapter 2
First Day

    â€˜So,’ said Dylan as we made our way to school the next morning, ‘it’s really important that we check out the quality of the canteen. Do they do junk food or do they do celebrity-TV-chef-type nosh? If junk, we take packed lunches. Right?’
    â€˜Dylan . . .’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜Put a sock in it.’
    Mornings have never been my best time and it had been a rude awakening to be reminded that there are two seven o’clocks in the day. One nice one (in the evening) and one
horrid
one first thing. I was going to miss being able to sleep in, it was one of the best perks of holidays.
    Dylan’s face betrayed the tiniest hurt and I realised that, behind his bravado act, he was as nervous as I was. He alwaysrambled when he was worried about something. Actually he also rambled when he wasn’t. Dylan could talk for England, but he could charm too. He was a sweet kid with an appealing face and he looked so cute in his uniform with his black-and-yellow tie done up. He’d make a pile of mates in no time. I regretted being sharp with him. It wasn’t his fault we had to go to a new school or that I had been dragged from under my cosy duvet and out into this wet September day.
    About a metre before we reached the main road that led to our school, Dylan suddenly put his hand up to his mouth, turned towards a wall, bent over, gagged and threw up.
    â€˜Ohmigod! Dylan are you OK?’ I went over and put my hand on his back.
    After a few moments, Dylan straightened up, nodded and looked around anxiously. ‘Nobody saw me did they? Nobody in the same uniform?’
    I followed his gaze around the area. ‘No. Only me. Don’t worry.’
    Poor, poor Dylan,
I thought as I looked at his pale face and watering eyes. ‘Are you OK?’
    He nodded shakily. ‘Got a tissue?’
    I pulled one out of my pocket. ‘Do you want to go home?’
    He shook his head. ‘You
sure
no one saw?’ he asked as he wiped his mouth.
    â€˜No one,’ I said and I gave him a hug. ‘And no one saw that either. You’ll be fine, Dylan Ruspoli. Everyone going into your year is going to be anxious. There will be kids throwing up allover Notting Hill today. It’s going to be puke city . . .’
    Dylan pulled a face. ‘Ergh, India, visual overload.’
    â€˜I’m just trying to say that you’re not alone. And I bet you, give it half a day and everyone’s going to be queuing up to be your friend. Secondary school is a gas.’
    â€˜Oh really? So why are you Miss Doom and Gloom even more than you usually are this morning?’ he asked as he pulled on my arm to indicate we should walk on.
    â€˜I’m not,’ I said, although, actually, I was
Queen
of Doom and Gloom. I was feeling miserable - and not just because of the early rise. It was because of Kate. My lovely, compassionate, sensitive, warm-hearted cousin. Not. When we were having breakfast earlier that morning, I had asked if I could go in with her. She had put down her toast, sighed as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders then given me a long speech about ‘stuff’ she had to do on the way,
plus
she was meeting up with her mate Chloe,
plus
she was going in later today as Sixth Formers had different schedules - and
oh
the pressure of A-levels, stress, all too much. I think she must have seen my face fall (I’m not very good at hiding my feelings) because she then tried to