Free The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) by Anna Bloom Page A

get a sensation back; it just happens to be extreme pins and needles.
    To my immense horror, I can hear the gathering of Ben and his adoring fans getting up to leave.
    With fingers desperately grabbing at the carpet, I scoot myself as quick as I can to the end of the bookshelf, hoping that they pass by without glancing down.
    I have just finished my high-speed, painful claw and crawl, when a pair of navy blue scuffed Converse step out in front of me.
    “What on earth are you doing?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Really?”
    Wanker!
    “I’m looking for books,” I explain, trying to make it sound like it is perfectly normal to be crawling around on the library floor.
    “Are you stuck, Lilah?”
    “Nope.”
    He stands and waits for me to get up, but it’s not going to happen.
    Two uncomfortable minutes pass while he watches me with a growing smile of amusement. Eventually he gives in with a sigh of exasperation as he leans down and hikes me up under the armpits like a toddler, positioning me back on my feet.
    I try not to let the pain show on my face but fail miserably as I give in and do the pins and needles dance. So now I am standing in front of the hot guy from the room next door, who I make out with regularly, whilst doing a little dance from foot to foot awaiting the fickle return of circulation and normal use of my feet.
    “You are completely mental, you know that?” he asks as he stands there, arms folded over his chest watching me do my little jig.
    I glare in response as he leans down and picks up my pile of books and then holds out his spare hand to me. I ignore it with a “Humph,” and march away with my now fully functioning legs towards the door.
    He follows me with a big sigh of exasperation. Sigh away, buddy.
    “How was your study session?” I ask as we walk down the stairs.
    “Great, I got loads done,” he replies, but raises an eyebrow at my tone.
    I bet he got loads done. I am sure he has lots of new phone numbers stored on his phone.
    Wanker!
    I, on the other hand, got no studying done at all.
    8th October
    I sulked in my cage all night. Meredith knocked to ask if I was joining them for dinner, but I shouted out that I was not hungry. In fact, I was bloody starving, but I was not going out there. Instead, I ate a packet of crisps and some Jammy Dodgers.
    Meredith texted me later.
    Meredith: Why are you sulking?
    Me: I am not sulking.
    Meredith: Yes you are.
    Me: Go away! This is costing me money .
    Meredith: You know he thinks Barbie is a blonde div , don ’ t you?
    I did not respond to this. Obviously Ben knew I had seen him with those other girls and is trying to cover his own back.
    Wanker!
    It makes it even more annoying that he has told Meredith about it.
    Today I am going to do something drastic after lectures.
    9th October
    Okay, I am officially hiding in my room and I will be until the end of term. Meredith hammered on my door for about five minutes until I shouted at her to go away.
    She and Ben and have gone to class. I wonder if they will slide their notes under the door and I can pretend to have bird flu or swine flu (or wine flu, more likely).
    This has nothing to do with Ben and his floozies. It’s to do with my little trip to the hairdresser’s yesterday.
    I look like a hedgehog.
    A hedgehog that has been run over. Twice.
    The Hairdressers from Hell
    So after class yesterday, I sped into Putney. I am hardly using Deathtrap Cooper at all, but yesterday speed was of the essence, so I squished myself into that coffin on wheels, cranked the engine to the max, and drove as fast as the south London traffic would allow: approximately twenty-two miles an hour.
    I rushed down the High Street and flung the car into a parking space at Waitrose. I then dashed it into a hairdresser’s (that shall remain unnamed) where a guy with questionable abilities completely massacred my hair.
    Okay, it may have been partly my fault. I did not really know what I wanted, a piece of information that caused