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chatting about the distance he needed to complete that he wouldn’t have heard me anyway.
    “Sounds good, Dad. Look, is Mum all right?”
    He paced across the room and sat on the bed, resting his hands on his knees. “Ah, little Birdy, I don’t know.”
    “She was a bit—”
    “Don’t worry yourself. It’ll all fall into place. The solar bricks are such a good idea. I can just feel it.”
    “Right.”
    “I’ll let you get back to work, then,” he said, standing abruptly.
    “Did you, you know, want something?”
    He jogged on the spot. “Got to get training,” he said, and puffed out the room like an elephant.
    It would have been funny if everything hadn’t felt so weird.
    Finally alone, I uploaded some photos onto my computer. I’d started work on a photography project on the theme of colour. I looked for groups of the same colour and photographed them—a white building against a milky sky; a purple flower in an oily puddle next to an indigo boot; a green umbrella resting on the grass. Then I uploaded some neat images of a discarded newspaper caught in a breeze, which I took on the afternoon of the snow day. The white-and-black pages against the white of the snow looked cool. Next were the photos of Cleo in her car. I emailed them to her. For a while, I’d been toying with the idea of getting a job at a photographer’s studio—extra money wouldn’t hurt and it would be interesting work. I wasn’t sure it would help with applying for Oxford, though—perhaps I should try to do something that might lead to a job later on. Temping in a lawyer’s office or something. Although I didn’t think I wanted to be a lawyer, it sounded good on paper.
    The photograph of Griffin standing in the snow came up on the screen. Automatically, I glanced out my window. He was sitting at his desk, probably playing a computer game. I watched him. I was just about to text him to look up when my phone rang. It was Pete.
    I answered, knowing I shouldn’t. “What do you want?”
    He said softly, “What do
you
want?”
    “Pete, stop. You’ve ignored me all week. I don’t want to play your games.”
    “
You
haven’t even looked at
me
all week,” he said. “I miss your little glances my way.”
    My tummy flipped. Griffin leaned back in his desk chair, saw me through the window and smiled.
    I said, far more firmly than I felt, “Don’t think you can just text me and call me whenever you want. I’ve got a boyfriend. Look, I’m sorry, but we should just forget it. It shouldn’t have happened.”
    He said, “Call me when you know that’s not true.”
    The silence on the end of the line told me he’d ended the call and the conversation. For the moment.

CHAPTER 7
    Mon 15 Nov
    Dear Miss Take-Control-of-Your-Life,
    My friend is super angry with me becoz i keep buying the same clothes as her and copying what she says. she yelled at me that i need to get my own Life. Im scared everyone hates me … I hate my life … its ordinary and pathetic. My friend has an Awesome life and Awesome parents. Theyre so much better than mine … my dads an alcoholic and my mum tells me shes leaving him but never does … I want to be someone else … famous, rich and gorgeous … I read celebrity magazines all the time and dream. My life is terrible and i feel like crap from morning until when i go to sleep.
    Copycat, 14
    Dear Copycat,
    You
know
you need to stop copying your friend. You could tell her that you’re only trying to flatter her, but she knowsyou actually want to
be
her, and that totally creeps her out. And take a break from reading celeb mags. They’re making you feel worse. (I know, totally addictive, but in your case BAD NEWS.)
    Tips to Take Back Control
    Tell your best friend what’s happening at home. You’re dealing with a load of stuff with your family, and your friend—if she’s any sort of friend—will probably be more understanding if she knows that. Your home life sounds like a nightmare and it’s maybe giving