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well. And then knock down.
    The Clones made it clear that I wasn’t wanted by acting the completely opposite way. Whenever Charlotte arrived at the ordained lunch spot they would smile and say ‘hi’ to her, then look at me with an adapted Tara-dead-animal stare and say, super perky, ‘Hi HANNAH! You’re back! We are so glad. Aren’t we?’ Cue laughter, at which point Charlotte would pretend not to notice their sarcasm and I would smile and hope that maybe they would miraculously change their opinion of me. I tried multiple tactics; I made cookies at home and brought them to school to share around at lunch. None of the Clones would eat one and Tara just looked at me and said, ‘Um, shouldn’t you be cutting back on sugar, Hannah?’ Which the rest of the Clones thought was hilarious. And then, after Amy made a comment about my legs being ‘neon white’ I attempted a bit of DIY fake tanning, which resulted in orange blotches all over my legs, not to mention the palms of my hands. I don’t think I need to explain how that one was received.
    I knew I wasn’t wanted. But Charlotte was my oldest, closest friend. I loved her and I knew that unless I tried to adapt I would lose our friendship and all the years of history between us. There was also the knowledge that without Charlotte I would become what is known as a floater – someone who doesn’t belong, someone without an all-important group membership. An annoying person who keeps popping up and can’t be flushed.
    When I finally confessed to my mum what was going on at school she asked me what happened. As if there was one single incident that was to be blamed, as if I’d accidentally stolen Tara’s phone or maybe inadvertently told the Clones I thought they were shallow, superficial bitches. Whenever I tried to explain – such as telling her that quite regularly the lunch spot would be changed and everyone would ‘forget’ to mention it to me, or that Tara and Amy would instantly fall silent whenever I happened to show up – she told me that I shouldn’t let people treat me that way. As if I could turn up and present Tara with the Declaration of Human Rights and point to number seventeen that says ‘Everyone in the group must be informed of any party, shopping trip or lunch spot location change’. Simple.
    And Charlotte. She tried, she really did, she tried to carry on the illusion that we were still the best of bestest friends. She really tried to maintain the facade of loyalty. I was a piece of sentimental childhood memorabilia she couldn’t bring herself to throw away.
    I clung on to our sinking friendship for the rest of year seven, until the following February when there was a party at Tara’s one Saturday night. Her parents weren’t the sort of people to worry about having a hundred kids turn up, apparently. And Tara’s older brother (one of Katie’s mates) reportedly had ten cases of beer in the garage. The whole school seemed to be talking about it, it was all over Facebook. I felt like it was a test and if I performed well, maybe the Clones would accept me. How pathetic.
    Katie was getting a ride with a friend to the party and I was absolutely not welcome to join her. So it was Dad who drove me. When we were leaving he asked if I had the invitation so he could punch the address into the GPS. I had to explain that it wasn’t the sort of party you got an invitation in the post for.
    â€˜There going to be adults at this party?’
    I glanced at him. ‘I think so. Yes.’
    â€˜Do you want me to pick up Charlotte? I can give you both a ride, it’s no trouble.’
    â€˜No. She’s there already, helping set up.’
    â€˜I haven’t seen Charlotte in ages. How is she going?’
    â€˜Okay.’
    â€˜Met any other cool people at school?’
    â€˜Not heaps.’
    â€˜Well, Tara must be a good friend if she