Chapter One

Have you ever noticed how some people can make the subject that they’re writing about interesting? And, in the same way, others can’t? Say that one day you just happened to pick up someone’s journal, or notebook, and, just out of curiosity, start to flick through it. Some journals don’t contain any great detail, just what the owner was up to that day and so on. But some…some read like novels, just because there is so much detail and feeling put into the entries.

Or to put it another way…it’s like having different types of friends. Some are interesting, in that they can usually find things to talk about in order to fill up those strained silences that will almost always crop up in any conversation, while other’s mainly just stay quiet and hardly contribute to any conversations, unless they are asked to, and even then, they only say a few words before falling silent again.

However, have you ever noticed that it tends to be friends like the second type who stick around for you if something goes wrong in your life? Whereas the first type are usually rushing around, busy with Drama club or something else to do with clubs, the second type will give you a chance to talk, to let your feelings out, and then tell you what you can do in order to stop feeling like that.

If you’re willing to let your feelings out, that is. If you’re not, then that can very often cause a breach between even the most patient of your friends and yourself.

I’m more of the second type, the ones who don’t really have all that much to say, but do listen. Although, I did have a friend whom was the first type. And…for a while, everything went well. We had arguments, but usually made up a day or so later. However, as we got older, I began to notice something. It always seemed to be me whom was the one to say sorry, not her. Even when it was her who’d started it, I ended up apologising. At first, I didn’t think much of it, but, as school went on, I found myself wondering more and more if she liked me.

The situation seemed to get worse when we entered sixth form. She’d found herself a boyfriend, but, still, she persisted in causing drama out of situations where there hadn’t been any before. I started to get a little bit fed up, especially since she appeared to take everything that wasn’t to do with her as personal.

The falling-outs became more and more frequent, and as I wasn’t really the easy-going girl I’d been before, tended to get more wound up every time she did it.

At last, it all came to a head. She’d been saying some horrible things about another friend who’d been off ill a lot, and myself, as well as two other friends finally grew fed up of it. All would have been fine, had she not dragged a bunch of girls whom had nothing to do with it down as well.

Maybe if that hadn’t happened, then we’d still be friends, but then again, you can’t count on “maybes”, can you?