Someday

/// One day, Myra wished she could just be taken from the world. Someday, Callie will know her story. ///


When Callie finds a tattered old shoe box under her bed one night, she doesn't realise that her past could change in an instant. The day Myra killed herself was a disaster; Callie couldn't deal with it. Her and Myra would spend most nights huddled together in their bedroom, exchanging secrets and pretending they were best friends, not sisters. But when Callie finds out that Myra hasn't told her her own secrets, but ones she wishes were true, maybe she realises it's time to forget about the friendship they had. After all, Callie had been honest to Myra, so why couldn't she have done the same?

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3. ~2~

The next day, when I’m on my way to school as usual, I try to forget about the disaster holiday I’ve just had. A week ago I’d broken up from school on the May Holiday break, and so had Myra. When we finished at midday we walked down to the park and had an ice cream because the weather was nice for once.

As far as I can remember, that was the last moment I spent alone with Myra before things…

Happened.

Yes, we share a room at night, but that night in particular Myra went to bed early because she was feeling particularly tired. She disappeared off and by the time I went up for bed she was already asleep.

Slowing creeping about I managed to pop myself into bed without waking her, but it was in the morning that I got the biggest shock of my life. It was when I twisted my body round to say ‘Good Morning’ to her, that she was gone.

“Callie? Callie!” Suddenly, I jerk back into the present. My best friend Amelie stands in front of me, waving her hands in my face.

“Yeah?” I say, squinting at her in the light.

“Wow, you blanked out on me for a second!” She laughs, falling into step beside me as I continue to walk. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing much,” I lie. I know I can’t keep this a secret for too long – the non-existence of Myra - but I might as well try to hide it as far as I can.

Amelie doesn’t look convinced. “Something’s wrong, and I know it.”

“Well…I am feeling a little down because…” I try to explain, hoping some sort of excuse might slide its way into my mind. “…you see…Myra isn’t walking with us today as she’s got the flu.”

Although Myra goes to the local school, which is just around the corner, we walk a little of the way with her and then halfway there we catch the bus to the Grammar school.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Amelie replies, though she doesn’t sound very sympathetic at all.  I think that she prefers spending time just with me, considering Myra used to be so moody in the mornings.

“Yeah, but at least I have you.” I smile, and Amelie grins back.

After we’ve caught the bus to Darlington (the town where our school is placed), we make our way through the gate to the buzzing school grounds. It’s only a few minutes to the bell so everyone’s rushing about - I think Grammar school teachers tend to be harsher when giving late marks. Once, I was late by a minute and my form teacher Mr Wells still wouldn’t let me off!

Amelie and I walk together to the form room, which we share, and slump down into the seats at the back. It’s only a matter of seconds before Mr Wells is by our side, telling us to stand up straight and show our respect.

“I think that’s a record – only 3 seconds before he came over.” Amelie mutters to me as Mr Wells gestures for us to be seated.

“Yeah, I don’t see why he comes up to us all the time and not them.” I nod my head towards the girls in the corner who have their perfect legs outstretched so their high heeled shoes place delicately on the school table. How they get away with such a thing I don’t know.

“Mr Wells likes looking at them I think.” Amelie says, trying to control herself.

“And he’s such an oldie!” I murmur, causing her to burst into laughter.

Snap! Our heads dart to the front as soon as we hear the long droning bellow from the front of the classroom. Everyone turns their heads to look at us - even the girls at the front seem to lay their eyes on us, even though they were glued to looking at their nails a minute ago.

“What is so funny, girls? Would you like to share?”

“I’d rather not, but thanks for the offer.” Amelie says, trying to keep a straight face. He can’t tell her off for being polite, or for having an attitude. After all, she managed to receive the Star Pupil of The Year Award last year, and every teacher seems to soften down to those pupils.

“Right,” Mr Wells concludes, trying his best to ignore her comment, “Grab your bags girls and when the bell goes you can file out.”

I’m actually so relieved that this is an only girls school, because having boys shoving you out the way to get out the door first would be horrible. Amelie, however, thinks differently.

“It’s weird just having girls.” She says to me at Break, when we’ve already suffered through the first two lessons.

“Yeah, but isn’t it a whole lot quieter and nicer? Everyone’s so friendly.”

“Boys can be friendly.” Amelie states, “Anyway, how are we supposed to have any relationships if there are no boys about?”

“Um, you don’t?”

Amelie stares at me like I’m mad. “Are you crazy?”

“Or you could look somewhere else.” I say, ignoring her question.

“Which leads me to what I want to ask you…” Amelie says, and I roll my eyes. She always seems to start a conversation on something just so she can come in with an idea at the right point. It’s actually quite funny the way it never works when I try it, but when she does, it goes perfectly.

“My Mum said I should do something outside of school and so she suggested I go to the Youth Club in Town. I’m really scared to go alone, so will you come with me?”

Now it’s my turn to stare at her like she’s mad. “Are you crazy? I’d rather be at home!”

“Wow, you are so sad.” Sometimes I think she’s right.

Amelie and I are actually so different. We have completely different personalities; completely different interests. She likes to be out and doing things; she’s got a ton of confidence and makes friends really easily. I, however, like to be indoors and alone. I don’t go out of my way just to please someone and I certainly don’t have fun meeting new people. If anything, I completely shy out, whilst Amelie would run off with a bunch of girls who she made friends with in two minutes.

Sometimes, I like to pretend I’m Amelie. In my bedroom, when I’m bored, I try on a load of make-up like she would and act out a scene in a Disco. But it’s not the same. Amelie would look prettier; Amelie would have a load more confidence; Amelie would be perfect.

And I wouldn’t.

I know you can’t be perfect, and sometimes your imperfections make you perfect to some people, like Amelie. But not with me. Sometimes I feel like I’m the odd one out – the person standing out of the crowd.

But then I think back to what Myra was like. She was confident, popular, everything a girl would want, yet she turned out to be depressed. She turned out to be the girl lying on the kitchen floor with a knife stuck in her chest when I came down the stairs one morning, blood spilling out around her.

And then I think, maybe being me was easy compared to being Myra?

Maybe, whilst I’d love to be Myra, someone like Myra would only want to be me?

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