At least I could talk to Grace. I was really grateful that she wanted to come bowling. We’d arranged that her mum was going to bring her over to our house tomorrow, before we set off, and that she could stay for the pizza afterwards. Mum had asked several times if I didn’t want to ask more people – maybe some of my old friends from Primary – but I’d thought it would be hard mixing everyone before and now it was just too late to ask them without it looking rude. No, it was better if my birthday was as low-key as possible. To be honest, right up until Mum and Dad drove us to the bowling alley, all I wanted was for the whole thing to be over. But as I sat in the back of our big estate car, sandwiched between Grace and Stone, I couldn’t help wishing that things were different. I’d seen how I looked in my new black top. Black was supposed to be a slimming colour, wasn’t it? And yet I looked like a lump of mud wearing it. Plus my hair was all wiry and it didn’t suit my face-shape and my shoes were hideous because Mum wouldn’t let me wear anything with any style because she said my feet were still growing and that narrow designs and high heels were bad for them.
