carry on where I left off, even though I feel swamped in guilt, like I’m scanning through someone’s diary.
And he is a creep. You know how dumb I am? Before he shot off, without even saying goodbye, I asked him if it meant we were going out now. And he just laughed in my face! Can you believe it?! But what am I going to do, Sarah? I could be pregnant or anything! I know you can get the morning-after pill, but this is Sunday, for God’s sake. Don’t suppose they do a morning-after-the-morning-after pill, do they? Uhhhh…I know I sound like I’m joking around about it, but I’m not. I’m desperate, I’ve got tears streaming down my face as I write this. I feel like killing myself – I’m not kidding. I feel like going up to the bridge over the bypass and chucking myself off in front of the first lorry I see.
What am I going to do?
Please write back, babes (don’t phone me – I can’t talk about this with my family kicking around, obviously).
And please, please, please, I beg you, don’t tell anyone else about this – not even Cherish. I couldn’t stand the shame.
Angel xxx
My head and my heart are pounding. Poor Angel – last night I was disgusted by her, and today I feel as sorry as I did for Conor when I saw Sarah doing her flirt routine. Maybe Sarah should go out with this Joel guy. He sounds as despicable as her…
You know, I should exit this stuff, but I’m too far in now – I really need to know what advice Sarah ended up giving Angel (my mind boggles). I open up the Sent box and see an e-mail from Sarah, sent earlier today. But it’s not directed to Angel – the name coming up is Cherish. My stomach in my mouth, I double-click, and find myself staring at Angel’s cut-and-copied cry for help.
“The bitch!” I mumble, hardly able to believe that my sister could be that callous. What’s the deal with her? Was it just too good a piece of gossip to keep to herself, like Angel begged her to do? Is Sarah getting off on the fact that Angel’s messed up so badly?
Suddenly, I jerk in shock – that’s Sarah’s doorclicking open. Hurriedly, fingers shaking, I quit the e-mails.
“Oh.”
That’s Sarah, peering around the door and staring at me with zilch expression on her face. Her eyes are red, though – looks like she’s been crying. Wonder if that’s because of the humiliation of getting a bollocking from Mum and Dad, or about whatever went on between her and Conor last night? Who cares? She deserves to be miserable.
“What?” I say, hoping my voice isn’t as wobbly as I feel right now.
“Are you going to be on the computer long?” she asks me flatly. “There’s something I’ve forgotten to do.”
What? Send copies of Angel’s e-mail to everyone else in your address book for a laugh? I think, but don’t say.
“I’m finished now,” I shrug, getting to my feet and scrabbling my papers up from the side of my untouched tray of coffee and biscuits.
I breathe myself flat, slithering paper-thin past Sarah without touching her. She’s been a two-timing cow where Conor’s concerned and a treacherous one to Angel. Underneath all that fake niceness, she’s just callous, there’s no other word for it. And you know, it brings it allback to me, the way she walked out of the room that day; that day last summer when I got back from the hospital. She didn’t even have the decency to ask how I was. Oh, yes, I don’t want to be within spitting distance of Sarah. Though right now, that’s exactly what I’d like to do to her.
Chapter 8
On the Angel trail
Um…I’m not a musician, but from where I’m standing, it sounds to me like Salman is drumming along to a totally different track to the one the others are thrashing through. Conor’s bass-playing doesn’t sound quite right either, and on closer inspection, I see that one of the thick, metal strings on his guitar has snapped and is flapping wildly around, in danger of taking an eye out. Sarah and Cherish: their backing
And he is a creep. You know how dumb I am? Before he shot off, without even saying goodbye, I asked him if it meant we were going out now. And he just laughed in my face! Can you believe it?! But what am I going to do, Sarah? I could be pregnant or anything! I know you can get the morning-after pill, but this is Sunday, for God’s sake. Don’t suppose they do a morning-after-the-morning-after pill, do they? Uhhhh…I know I sound like I’m joking around about it, but I’m not. I’m desperate, I’ve got tears streaming down my face as I write this. I feel like killing myself – I’m not kidding. I feel like going up to the bridge over the bypass and chucking myself off in front of the first lorry I see.
What am I going to do?
Please write back, babes (don’t phone me – I can’t talk about this with my family kicking around, obviously).
And please, please, please, I beg you, don’t tell anyone else about this – not even Cherish. I couldn’t stand the shame.
Angel xxx
My head and my heart are pounding. Poor Angel – last night I was disgusted by her, and today I feel as sorry as I did for Conor when I saw Sarah doing her flirt routine. Maybe Sarah should go out with this Joel guy. He sounds as despicable as her…
You know, I should exit this stuff, but I’m too far in now – I really need to know what advice Sarah ended up giving Angel (my mind boggles). I open up the Sent box and see an e-mail from Sarah, sent earlier today. But it’s not directed to Angel – the name coming up is Cherish. My stomach in my mouth, I double-click, and find myself staring at Angel’s cut-and-copied cry for help.
“The bitch!” I mumble, hardly able to believe that my sister could be that callous. What’s the deal with her? Was it just too good a piece of gossip to keep to herself, like Angel begged her to do? Is Sarah getting off on the fact that Angel’s messed up so badly?
Suddenly, I jerk in shock – that’s Sarah’s doorclicking open. Hurriedly, fingers shaking, I quit the e-mails.
“Oh.”
That’s Sarah, peering around the door and staring at me with zilch expression on her face. Her eyes are red, though – looks like she’s been crying. Wonder if that’s because of the humiliation of getting a bollocking from Mum and Dad, or about whatever went on between her and Conor last night? Who cares? She deserves to be miserable.
“What?” I say, hoping my voice isn’t as wobbly as I feel right now.
“Are you going to be on the computer long?” she asks me flatly. “There’s something I’ve forgotten to do.”
What? Send copies of Angel’s e-mail to everyone else in your address book for a laugh? I think, but don’t say.
“I’m finished now,” I shrug, getting to my feet and scrabbling my papers up from the side of my untouched tray of coffee and biscuits.
I breathe myself flat, slithering paper-thin past Sarah without touching her. She’s been a two-timing cow where Conor’s concerned and a treacherous one to Angel. Underneath all that fake niceness, she’s just callous, there’s no other word for it. And you know, it brings it allback to me, the way she walked out of the room that day; that day last summer when I got back from the hospital. She didn’t even have the decency to ask how I was. Oh, yes, I don’t want to be within spitting distance of Sarah. Though right now, that’s exactly what I’d like to do to her.
Chapter 8
On the Angel trail
Um…I’m not a musician, but from where I’m standing, it sounds to me like Salman is drumming along to a totally different track to the one the others are thrashing through. Conor’s bass-playing doesn’t sound quite right either, and on closer inspection, I see that one of the thick, metal strings on his guitar has snapped and is flapping wildly around, in danger of taking an eye out. Sarah and Cherish: their backing
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