My Life in Chapters

This is about my life, but as a real piece of writing. I will take notes of significant events in my life, then transform them into creative writing. I have changed all names (but my own) for these people's safety.


2. Thursday 12th July -Last Day of School

I ran towards my mother, her warm embrace filling me with hope. As as bitter salt tear wandered down my pale cheek, I pulled away and began walking to the car, wiping at my damp cheek delicately. As I quickened my pace, mum asked: "What's wrong, Imogen?"

"Nothing." I sobbed irritably. She wasn't thick, though. She knew something was wrong. I was fairly confident she knew what it was, too.

"Did you find out about Head Girl?" she asked delicately, not wanting to set me into floods of tears in the middle of the school car park. "Is that it?"

"No!" I shouted, slamming the car door behind me. My brother clambered in beside me, though neither of us dared make eye contact. After Mum entered the car, she tried again.

"Look, love, you can't expect a position like Head Girl to go to someone who has only been around a year." she reasoned. "It was bound to go Faith. And look on the bright side," she added. "at least it wasn't Frankie or Charlotte."

She had a very good point there. I had recently discovered what Charlotte thought of me (thanks to Verena - sometimes she seems like the only trustworthy person in this school), and none of it was good. Apparently, I'm so annoying because I "actually think that Faith likes" me. And Frankie, well, she wasn't exactly Head Girl material. So, having either of them in charge of year seven-soon-to-be-year-eights-thus-top-of-the-school wouldn't be particularly pleasant. Mum was right though: imagine the complaints we would receive from mothers whose daughters had been around since reception.

Besides, I didn't care, like I said. I was tired, that's all.

As soon as we were home, I darted up to my room and began crying for no good reason whatsoever. I'm not depressed or anything - it just feels good to let it all out sometimes. Anyway, I was busy sobbing my heart out over nothing in particular, when a familiar voice called down the stairs: "Imogen, dear, come and see this."

Naturally, I sauntered down the staircase in silence, not expecting much of a surprise to await me. When I arrived in the kitchen, my mother passed me several A5 pieces of paper in a blue folder. That was when I knew what this was.

My report.

I read through each review of me at a lightning pace; Maths, English, French, History, Geography, Latin, Science, Music, Games, P.E., and head teacher's comments. They all gave very positive reports of me, wishing me luck in year eight. It was when I reached the page with form teacher's comments, however, that my heart stopped beating. The final sentence, 'You will be brilliant next year Imogen - the sky will be your only limit!' I had received great things in this report, despite not being elected head girl. That didn't matter now. 

I let a few more hot, fresh tears escape my glittering eyes and roll down my cheeks - only this time they were tears of happiness.

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