But something feels wrong from the very start of the weekend. I suppose it starts on Friday morning, when I’m packing my weekend bag to take to school with me – I’m going to the twins’ house straight after school and, as usual, I’ll be gone for most of the weekend. ‘Oh dear, Sorana – are we ever actually going to see you again?’ I look up and my mum’s standing in the doorway. She says it like she’s joking, but with enough sad undertones to make me feel absolutely terrible. I’m not sure if she’s doing it deliberately or not – but she’s always been of the ‘disappointed’ rather than ‘angry’ school of parenting, and it’s way more effective. Although I’m relieved that Mum hasn’t found out about my afternoon out from school, it’s making me feel strange to be around her. I don’t like having secrets; I’m rubbish at it. Even though I know I’m in the clear, I am well aware that I’m still not acting like my usual self at the moment. ‘Of course!’ I say, a bit too over-emotionally.
