The Best Thing Read Online Free PDF Page B

Living in a family is so
un-sexy
—how does it get to be like this? It had to start off better, didn’t it? Mum’s told me about it. She sounded as if she was in love with Dad, back then. Why does that seem so ridiculous now? Definitely those two are
not
in love. I wouldn’t even say they love each other. I wouldn’t say either of them are crazy about
me,
even. We remind me of three trains running side by side along parallel tracks. We never look at each other, we hardly touch, we never do anything together, unless you count the supermarket shopping—whoopee. We never talk more than we have to: ‘Can I go on the excursion, Mum?’ ‘Sure. Here’s $10’. It’s weird, when you think about it. Are all families like this?
    Lisa’s isn’t. Her dad’s a really hearty type, always making rude jokes that crack her mum up and make Lisa and Troy
groan.
They’re always hugging each other and pushing each other and tickling and carrying on. At least, when I knew them they were; it’s a while since I checked. Loudmouth Lisa, ex-best friend.
    The Lewises are okay, too. They don’t make as much noise as the Wilkinsons, but you can tell they’re
joined.
They all run together on the same track instead of four different ones, all going along when Josh’s playing hockey or Ambra’s in the swimming sports. I’d be lucky to get Mum to the school once a year on Prize Night, and Dad—well, you don’t want to know, do you, Dad? I only mention kids at school every now and again, but when I do you switch on the lectures about being an individual (a good little train running alone down the line) and not being led by the crowd. God, if only there
was
a crowd to be led by! There is
no-one,
honestly. I can say without anyone contradicting me,
I have no friends at school
any more. I used to have friends. I used to have a boyfriend there, even. I used to love getting up and going to school. Every evening I’d be on the phone with someone, organising for the weekend. I went out every Friday and Saturday night for nearly a whole year.
    And the years before that, school was different. There were gang-like groups, but they didn’t have much power, and they didn’t have decisive leaders like Donna-and-Lisa or James Li. New people came and changed the whole mood of the school, and other people left, like (most importantly) Natalie Begley, who was my friend and went to London with her dad. And therewere also a few sensible people like Russell Daice—small, clever and very good at dissolving disagreements, so sure of himself, but so nice about it, that no-one could put him down. People like him were an antidote to all the jocks, but now there’s no resistance, and the jocks and the victimisers charge around doing what they please. Everything is likely to slip out of control there at any moment—last year some classes came so close to rioting it wasn’t funny, though I pretended it was at the time.
    I was pretty sure I was happy, last year—I’d never hung around with such a lot of people, felt so popular. It was hard keeping up the pace, but it was exciting being there when rules (spoken and unspoken), sometimes real
laws,
were being breached. I didn’t actually lead any break-ins, but I went for joy-rides in a few stolen cars, and picked up a few ‘bargains’ from the shops around King Street with Lisa. It was terrifying, but at least I felt awake; I wasn’t waiting for something to happen, as it’d felt like for all my life up until then.
    Well, now it’s all shot to pieces, isn’t it? I’d rather be in a coma than in this state of fearful
super-
awareness all the time, watching the shreds of everything I had last year fall through my fingers. Sometimes, when things are really black, Pug seems like a kind of consolation prize for having lost everything else in the bomb blast.
Here, have this unemployed bruiser,
someone said, and tossed him to me.
    But I dropped the bomb myself, didn’t I? Can’t blame anyone else. I opened