In my family, crying doesn’t earn you sympathy or hugs, just harsh words from Dad and smirks from Ben and pitying glances from Mum. It’s safer to put on a brave face, smile and hold your head high and pretend that nothing matters. You can build a wall round yourself that way, keep the hurt inside. The trouble is, Cherry learnt the same lesson. She lost her mum when she was a little kid, and got picked on at school too; she perfected the don’t-care mask, the smile that hid a whole heartful of pain. When we got together, it was pretty much the first time either of us had learnt to be open and honest with anyone else – we taught each other to trust. I’ve destroyed all of that now. Days crawl by. I fix my brave face on each morning and cycle to school – let’s just say it beats the school bus. After the first day or two, I begin to enjoy the cool breeze on my face, the misty mornings, the fast pedalling along twisty moorland lanes … but school itself is grim. Cherry acts like I don’t exist.
What do You think about Chocolate Box Girls: Bittersweet?
