Free Freia Lockhart's Summer of Awful by Aimee Said Page A

wear again. I fill the remainder of the charity bag and most of another one with clothes that are too small, too frilly or just plain Not Me any more. By the time I’ve gone through my sock drawer, I’m down to about a quarter of the clothing I started with.
    Being ruthless feels so good that I don’t stop for lunch, even though my stomach is complaining loudly about not having eaten for almost twenty-four hours. Also, every time my focus strays I start thinking about Mum going into hospital tomorrow, or obsessing over Dan. It’s taking all my willpower not to call him, but I’m determined to keep my inner Hysterical Girlfriend under control, at least until I’m sure of how he feels about me.
    I clean off the top of my desk, putting my folders and other stuff I’ll need for school next year on a now-clear shelf of my bookcase, and chucking out all the pens that don’t work and dusting off the reading lamp that I don’t think I’ve ever turned on. This year, I tell myself, I’ll actually do my homework at my desk, sitting in the Deluxe Student Study Chair Mum and Dad gave me last Christmas, with the lamp on so I don’t strain my eyes.
    The last item in the room is my bedside table. I open the top drawer where I tend to shove anything that I don’t want Mum to see when she comes in for her daily how-was-school chat. The top layer is mementos of the past few months: movie ticket stubs and the good luck card Siouxsie made me for the exams and a leaf I tore off Our Tree the day after Dan and I first kissed. I put them to one side. The second layer is stuff from months ago, mainly notes scribbled in classes. I don’t bother opening them but I catch words here and there as I throw them into the bin bag: “sooooooo bored” in Kate’s loopy, sloping handwriting, “fat, ugly” in Belinda’s textbook-neat cursive, “le garçon cute” in Brianna’s signature purple biro. Out they all go, the remnants of another girl’s life.
    On top of the bedside table, I line up the time capsule photo next to the one of me and Dan. Mum’s locket is sitting in front of them, where I left it when I came to bed last night. I pull the long chain over my head, feeling the locket’s comforting weight as it rests against my chest. In the mirror I check myself. The old-fashioned locket looks weird hanging below the shiny plectrum Dan gave me, but good weird. Like two different sides of me are meeting for the first time.
    It takes four trips to haul all the bags to the garage. I put the charity bags in the corner opposite Ziggy’s fitness centre, where Mum’s already got a pile of stuff ready to go, and chuck the rest into the bin. It’s lucky it’s garbage collection day tomorrow because I can hardly close the lid after I’ve squished the last one in. On my way back to my room I give in to my hunger pangs and make a sandwich which, since Mum’s still out, I take up to my room.
    Boris has migrated back to the bed. He opens one eye to give me a lazy death stare and then perks up considerably when he sees I’ve got food. I sit next to him, admiring the almost-Zen cleanness of my room while I eat my sandwich. If how you start your year really has an effect on how it turns out, I’m in for a doozy.

    When I go downstairs to check my email I’m surprised to see Dad in the Kiss the Cook apron he usually reserves for the annual English faculty barbeque, and even more surprised to see him trying to force a lemon up the backside of a chicken.
    â€œDon’t be so rough,” says Mum. “That chook gave up its life for us to eat it – show it a bit of respect. Now, ease the skin away from the backbone to make room for the butter and herbs.”
    â€œWhat’s going on?” I ask.
    â€œYour father’s making dinner. I told him we’ve got enough left over turkey to last the rest of the week, but he