September 2004

Ridley brushes her hair back and stares at her reflection in the mirror, just like she did all those years ago, on her first day of school. Except she isn't a little, ugly squirt anymore. Ridley knows her looks have improved. Her face isn't as freckled as it used to be, and Ridley's thankfully inherited her mother's good teeth so she shouldn't worry about getting braces.

Adolescence is doing her well. Ridley knows she'll never be as pretty or as smart as Marcy, but it's a start.

She can't believe she's going to turn eleven in three months. She can't believe she's finally in Year Six. Just one more year and she'll finally go to Secondary school. Ridley won't have to deal with all the girls in her class who bully her relentlessly for having a weird, alcoholic father, and a sister who dropped out of college because she wanted to pursue a different career.

They're just jealous, Marcy always reassures her, but if they give you any trouble, just tell me okay? I'll sort them straight.

Ridley goes down the stairs and sees Marcy busily preparing breakfast for her. Marcy's discovered she's a really good cook, and used up all the money stocked up for her Uni to take cooking classes. Now, she's a professional. Marcy's hoping to get a job in a restaurant as a chef or something, but she's currently a waitress working in a dodgy pub down the street. Still, the money she earns puts food on the table, and Ridley will be forever grateful for that.

Marcy smiles at her little sister and pushes a plate of fried eggs and toast towards her. Ridley thanks her and sits down to eat.

"Dad still down at the pub?" Ridley asks as she gobbles down her fried eggs. She's always been a bit of a pig when it comes to eating food. But it's pretty hard not be greedy when you don't know when your next meal is going to be.

Marcy nods wearily.

"He's completely drunk," Marcy tells her. "I tried to bring him home but he wouldn't budge. I didn't want to cause a scene so I just left. But we won't have to put up with this anymore—Phil's found us a small flat we can live in. It's the cheapest in the entire neighbourhood. It's really crappy, but I think we can make do for now. Just the two of us, Rids, won't we?"

Ridley sighs and stops eating. Phil is Marcy's boyfriend. He's been her fifth one this year, and he's seven years older than her—it isn't that Marcy means to have so many boyfriends—she just needs someone who helps her out with stuff, like paying the bills and things. Anyway, Phil's quite nice—despite being a bit creepy. He's got a lot of friends and one of them is an estate agent. Marcy thought it would be a good idea to ask Phil if he could fix her up with a flat for a cheap price.

"Anyway," Marcy smiles, "it's your first day as a year six. Excited? I remember I was, but mind you, it's not as nice as they say it is."

Ridley grins drily. Always one to say positive things, Marcy is. After breakfast, she helps Marcy clear up and heads out of their house, which is now in an absolutely terrible state, especially the garden, which needs much tending to (as their bossy neighbour Mrs. Moore constantly reminds them). Ridley ticks off the days she will have to wait till her next summer holidays. They're not particularly enjoyable, but they're tolerable, if dad's not home. When he is, he's nearly always slumped on the sofa, shit-faced, with drool hanging off his chin. When dad isn't drunk, he just stares in to space, face in his hands. Ridley can hear him cry sometimes but, as Marcy has advised, doesn't bother trying to ask him about it.

The trip to school is so familiar, Ridley could probably walk all the way there with her eyes closed. She always walks alone, and from time to time she sees a girl with a mop of greasy hair walk past her. The girl always acknowledges her with a hesitant smile but never approaches her at school, which is fine with Ridley. She doubts the greasy-haired girl has any friends herself, but anyone ranging from the popular children to the outsiders knows Ridley is off limits. A freak. A lone wolf. Someone who will guarantee you as another target for bullies if you so much as smile at her.

Still, Ridley is content. She's been isolated her whole life, and from a young age, she's trained herself to stand on her own feet. To be satisfied with her own company. She often walks around the school on her own, imagining new stories in her head, sometimes whispering things to herself when people aren't looking. Ridley doesn't need friends in her life, as much as she'd like to deny it. Ridley doesn't need any company because her mind is abundant, positively brimming, with imaginative thoughts that occupy her throughout the day.

She'll sometimes find herself trailing off to the library and picking up a book or two. She'll sometimes curl up in a little ball, next to the radiator during the winter months, and spend nearly half her lunch time reading at the school library. Ridley loves words. She loves how they roll of her tongue when she whispers them out loud. She loves brushing her fingers through the pages of half-torn school books and smelling that oh-so divine smell of old paperbacks.

"Watch out, little orphan Annie's here," a voice says just as Ridley steps in to school. Ridley ignores Maya and walks past her, fists clenched, head held high. Maya Pasadera has been tormenting her for as long as she can remember—she's the same dark haired girl that told on her to the teacher all those years ago. Ridley never held that against her, but Maya seemed to have formed an unspoken grudge against her for reasons Ridley will never come to know, nor care enough to think about much.

Ridley heads off to the library, as she always does, before morning registration. She checks the clock hung up on the battered wall of the library. 8:20. Meh, plenty of time to have a look around. She gives Mrs. Macklemore a quick wave, and the old lady smiles back at her.

"How was summer, Ridley?" the old lady asks with a fond smile. Ridley shrugs.

"Same old, Mrs. M," she says with a sigh. "You know how it is."

"It can't have been that bad, love," Mrs. Macklemore says kindly. Ridley just smiles. No one knows. No one knows that this summer, Marcy had a pregnancy-scare. No one knows that this summer, the police almost found out about dad being a not-so-nice dad. No one knows that this summer, Ridley nearly died because a truck almost ran her over. Oh, but this was one of many summers Ridley's had to deal with. Once you're used to things you'll find that it isn't really much of a big deal to you.

"How was your holiday, Mrs. M?" Ridley asks in an attempt to change the conversation. The old lady smiles.

"I went to Spain with my son and daughter-in-law," she smiles. "It was very fun. I'm hoping for a trip to Italy next year. Just by myself. Lord knows I've needed a holiday to myself for years. Good thing I'll be retired by then. Perfect timing, too, don't you think, Rids? I wouldn't stand to come to school knowing you were in a different one. You're the only student who comes to the library and takes an interest in books. You're a funny little girl, Ridley but I love you for it."

Ridley grins and at that moment she really does want to hug Mrs. M. Except she doesn't. Don't worry—she makes up for it at the end of the year.

Mrs. M suddenly jumps. "Ooh!" she says with a snap of her fingers, "Ooh!"

Ridley frowns, puzzled. Mrs. M runs to her desk and fishes something out of her drawer and waves it at Ridley. It's a small, brown book—it looks quite old. Mrs. M hands it to her. Ridley looks at it and runs her fingers through the gold-lettering of the title. Anne of Green Gables.

"It's a smashing book, Ridley." Mrs. M beams. "I read it over the summer. The main character, Anne reminds me an awful lot of you. You should read it love; I think you'll find it quite interesting."

Ridley smiles. "I'll make sure I give it back to you by next week—" she begins but Mrs. M puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Keep it love," she smiles, almost knowingly. "I don't think you'll want to give it back afterwards, anyway."

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Ridley is walking down to her classroom, book swinging in her arms when somebody calls her name from behind. Ridley's head whips around, and she instantly regrets looking back because Benjamin Butler is walking towards her; big, strong strides with an almost confident look about him. He stands in front of her and Ridley feels almost...awed. Ever since the 'carrots' incident they haven't spoken two words to each other, save for one time back in Year Three when he was in desperate need of a pencil and only Ridley had one extra.

In contrast to Ridley, Benjamin Butler is widely popular (especially because he is fortunate enough to have such good looks). He's one of the fastest athletes at school and also excels academically. Ridley might not talk to him but she's secretly envious of the life he lives.

"Hi Ridley," he says, sounding flustered. Ridley doesn't reply. Why is he speaking to her now, exactly? She is suspicious. Is this another silly prank the boys are playing on her again? Benjamin seems to understand her expression and he smiles. He has a very friendly, warm smile. Ridley's lips twitch but she refrains herself. Just about.

"What do you want?"

She doesn't mean to sound that rude, but it's too late now. Benjamin's smile doesn't waver.

"I was wondering..." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean...it's our last year in school...you know, together, and you seem like a really nice girl. I really am sorry for calling you carrots. I didn't mean to. We were so little anyway. I was just wondering if we could, you know, start over?"

"Start over?"

"Mhm. No more name-calling."

"So you're saying you want to be...friends with me?"

"Yeah."

He waits for her to reply.

Ridley sighs, and she manages a smile. "Fine."

What's she got to lose, anyway?

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