Lissy's Patchwork Life

Liss has everything she wants- three brilliant friends, loving parents, a boyfriend, and school is going well. She has a patchwork quilt on her bed. It is her favourite thing in the world. But one day, her quilt breaks. Torn in pieces. Which is what happens to Liss's life when her best friend's boyfriend tries to kiss her. And afterwards, he posts it to Facebook, turning it round so that it sounds like SHE came onto HIM. And so, her boyfriend Jake, dumps her and so do all her friends. She cracks under the added pressure of GCSE's. Her life, like her quilt, is falling apart.

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3. Birthday

 It was very crowded at the restaurant. Sara's was a very popular place Everyone seemed happy. I was dreamily thinking of Jake and twirling my crystal bracelet in my fingertips. I loved the way the stars sparkled, just like real ones. Well, from here, anyway. Within close range a star would look like a huge terrifying thing on fire.

 My mum, my dad, my little brother Charlie and my grandparents were there. Charlie was pretending his fork was a missile or something, because he was crashing it into his napkin and making exploding noises. I hope it is because of the missile thing and not because that is the kind of thing he does in his free time. My parents were discussing how scary it was that I was fifteen already. I don't know why really. To be honest, I am no different from yesterday, except for one chocolate pillow (Lola), one hypnosis recording (Tillie) , one rubber duck (Kitty), and one amazingly beautiful crystal bracelet. All my grandparents were doing was blindly stuffing themselves with food. I decided that it was a good idea and to just eat my brownie. It was all warm and melty in the middle, like a tiny little brown volcano. Just not so exploding and dangerous.

 Finally, I stumbled into my bedroom. It was dimly lit and warm. I walked past the creamy honey coloured walls and pulled the caramel curtains across my window. I paused for a moment to admire my patchwork quilt. It was my favourite thing in the world. I made it with my mum when I was six. It took three weeks of two hours a day of working on it. We cut up thirty t-shirts for that. I will never forget those three weeks though. Ever since I had it, my luck had always been good. For example, any time it had to be washed and I had another sheet, I always had bad luck the next day. I know it is stupid, but I still think it is lucky. I sat on my bed and pulled the quilt back. There was a ripping noise. I couldn't bear to look. If my luck was bad when my quilt was being washed, what would happen if the quilt was broken?! Eventually, the logical left hemisphere of my brain managed to convince the (somewhat insane) rest of my brain, that it was not lucky. It was just the frame of mind that I was in when I didn't have the quilt that made me look at all the negatives in my day and interpret it as bad luck. (I'm taking a GCSE psychology class at the minute.) Basically, I told myself to suck it up and just look. So I looked. It was worse than I had thought. Almost half of the quilt had ripped in half. The binding was torn and frayed. One of my favourite squares of fabric had been torn, a square of light blue knit. Almost all the stitches had been pulled out of the pattern. A tear escaped, and then they began to fall like a waterfall. Blinded by tears, I fell down the stairs and threw myself into Mum's arms.

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