Working at the doctor’s clinic turns out to be not as bad as I was expecting. I don’t have to deal with the patients, which is a big relief. There’s a little room out the back where all the files and stuff are kept. On my first afternoon there, Mum handed me a huge stack of medical journals. ‘These all need to be filed,’ she told me. And basically that’s what I’ve been doing every day. It’s not just as simple as bunging them in on a shelf, either – I have to look through them all to see if there are any articles that might be useful for Shelley. Mum said to mark anything that’s about old people, young mothers or teenagers, as these are the people who come to our clinic the most. I have to mark anything good with a Post-it note and leave it for Shelley to read.

I find the journals kind of fascinating. I mean, some of the images are really gross, but it’s almost hard to look away. And the articles about teenagers are actually pretty interesting.

One afternoon, as I’m flipping through a journal, I come to an article called Teen Concern: Breast Abnormalities.

It’s all about how teenage girls worry a lot about whether what’s happening to their bodies is the same as what’s happening to everyone else. It says that teenagers are often too embarrassed or too worried to talk to anyone about it.

The article has some examples and when I read example number three, my heart practically stops. One of the patients the doctor had seen was a girl who was convinced there was something wrong with her because she’d found a blue vein on her left breast! The doctor reassured her patient that this was totally normal, and told her all about the different ways breasts could look as they were developing. The article describes how her patient had burst into tears because she was so relieved. The funny thing is that reading this, I feel like bursting into tears myself.

It’s weird to think of someone else worrying about exactly the same thing as me. It’s good in a way, I guess, but it also makes me feel dumb for not talking to someone about it before – it would’ve saved me a whole lot of worry.

I am so engrossed in reading that I don’t hear Shelley come in. She glances over my shoulder. ‘That looks interesting,’ she says.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is.’ I feel a bit embarrassed because she’s caught me reading about breast abnormalities, but since she’s already seen it I work up the guts to ask her something. ‘There’s a girl in here who saw her doctor because she was worried something was wrong with her, but it turns out she’s fine. Does that happen a lot?’ I say it very casually so Shelley won’t guess it’s got anything to do with me.

‘All the time,’ says Shelley, pouring herself a glass of water at the sink.

‘And do you get annoyed with people like that – for wasting your time?’ I ask.

Shelley looks at me in surprise. ‘Of course not!’ she says. ‘It’s always good to be able to tell someone that everything’s fine. It’s much better when people feel they can come to me with their worries, rather than stressing about it in private.’

I close the journal, while Shelley drinks her water.

‘It must be good,’ I find myself saying. ‘Helping people the way you do.’ Up to this point I figured being a doctor was mostly about trying not to be sneezed on. But it would be great to know everything Shelley knows about the body – to understand what is or isn’t concerning, and know how to treat any problems.

‘It is good,’ agrees Shelley. ‘And interesting.’ Then she smiles at me. ‘I know we joke about it, but have you ever actually thought about becoming a doctor yourself? I think you’d make a good one.’

I shrug. ‘Well, maybe,’ I say. And for the first time in a long time, I’m semi-serious about it.

I end up catching the bus home on my own that evening because Mum is working late. Carolyn’s door is closed which makes me wonder if Max is in there. I go to the kitchen and pour myself some orange juice. It’s only when I’m heading back to my room that I hear a weird noise coming from Carolyn’s room. It sounds like crying.

I sneak up closer and press my ear against her door. Yep, someone is definitely crying in there. But it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it. When Carolyn’s door is closed, I’m not welcome in her room. I’m not really welcome in there when it’s open either. I sneak back to my room and try to get started on my homework.

But the noise of Carolyn’s crying comes right through the wall and it’s not showing any sign of stopping. It’s pretty distracting. Eventually I put down my pen, go back down the hall and fling open Carolyn’s door. I do it fast so there’s no time to chicken out.

Carolyn is sprawled face-down on her bed. She looks up at me and her face is all red and blotchy.

‘What’s wrong?’ I say.

Carolyn buries her face into her pillow. ‘Go away,’ she says in this muffled voice.

I start feeling cross. I mean, if anyone should be crying, it’s me. I’m the one who got busted shoplifting. I’m the one who was dumped for not being smart enough. And I’m the one who doesn’t get to go to the school social. But I’m not blubbering away in my room, am I?

Being cross makes me braver. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say, folding my arms. ‘Not until you tell me what you’re crying about.’

Carolyn sits up, and for a moment I think she’s about to blast me. But then she kind of crumples. She puts her hands over her face and says something that sounds like, ‘Max broke up with me.’ Except it can’t be that.

‘What did you say?’ I ask, taking a step closer.

Carolyn takes her hands away, and this time when she speaks there’s no chance I’ve heard it, wrong. ‘Max broke up with me. This afternoon. He said I was getting too serious.’

For a minute I just stand there, with my mouth hanging open. I never ever thought Carolyn and Max would split up. I thought they’d be together forever. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘That’s … terrible.’

And then Carolyn starts crying even harder than before. She turns into a crying fountain, spouting tears in every direction. Because I’m not sure what else to do, I go and sit next to her, all the time waiting for her to yell at me to get out of her room. But she doesn’t. Then I even work up enough courage to put my arm around her for a hug. I can’t remember the last time Carolyn let me get this close, let alone let me hug her. Not since before Dad left, I think. I sit there for a while, trying to think of something to say that will cheer her up. But what can I possibly say?

After a few minutes, the crying eases off a bit and then eventually stops, although her breath is still all hiccuppy.

She gives me a watery smile and says, ‘Thanks for not trying to cheer me up.’

I shrug, like this was what I’d meant to do all along, and say, ‘I know how it feels, being dumped.’

It’s a bit risky saying this, because lately Carolyn hasn’t liked me comparing anything in her life with my own. But this time she doesn’t give me her usual death stare. Instead, she sighs and says, ‘It sucks, doesn’t it?’ Like we’re equals for once. And then she blurts something else out too. ‘Max isn’t the only reason why I’m upset, though. I’m failing maths. Like, really failing.’

‘I bet you wouldn’t fail if you tried harder,’ I say.

But Carolyn shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I have tried. I’ve tried really hard. We’re doing algebra at the moment and I just don’t get it at all. I’m too dumb.’

Carolyn is in the bottom stream for maths. Vegie maths, some kids call it. I don’t know what happens if you fail vegie maths. Do you get held back a year? Kicked out of school?

‘Well, you already know you want to be a buyer,’ I say.

‘You won’t need maths for that, will you?’

To my horror, Carolyn starts crying again. ‘I do need maths for that. The buyer for Tude told me it’s really important. She said you have to be able to stick to a budget and do quick calculations and currency conversions all the time. I’m hopeless at that sort of stuff. She said it’s essential that I keep up my maths for as long as I can – but I don’t think I’m going to make it through this term, let alone the rest of high school.’

‘I’ll help you,’ I say. The words come out before I’ve really thought them through. Carolyn is three years above me. Will I really be able to help? ‘I mean, we might be able to figure out your algebra stuff together.’

At first, Carolyn says no way and that it won’t work. But the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that I can help. I get sort of excited about the idea – especially as this might solve my Mr Cartright problem too. Because coaching my sister in algebra has got to count as extra maths work, right?

In the end Carolyn says, ‘Well, we can try it, I guess.’ And then she says something very surprising. ‘You know, I’ve always been so glad that I’m your older sister, and not your little one.’ It’s a very weird thing to say. Why would anyone want to be the younger sister? Being the youngest sucks. It must be obvious how surprised I am because Carolyn goes on to explain. ‘You’re way smarter than I am and it would’ve been hard to follow in your footsteps all the way through school. I’m lucky that you had to follow in mine instead.’

I had no idea Carolyn felt this way. It feels kind of good, to be honest. But also pretty mind-blowing. So I do what I always do when something has surprised me. I make a joke of it. ‘Well, it hasn’t been so easy for me either,’ I say, rolling my eyes and sighing dramatically. ‘Do you know how hard it is to follow in someone’s footsteps when they’re dancing along in high heels most of the time?’

Carolyn actually laughs – a little bit, at least – and then she looks at me, head tilted. ‘I don’t know about you,’ she says, ‘but I’m starving.’

Together we head to the kitchen. There’s a jar of red pesto in the cupboard and I offer to make pasta, but Carolyn shakes her head. ‘Let’s make something different,’ she says. ‘Something totally new.’

We grab a couple of shopping bags and walk to the local shops. Carolyn buys a whole lot of things with her own money. She’s like a madwoman, flinging all this stuff into our trolley. I’m not really sure what half of it is. Then we lug it all home.

‘Right,’ Carolyn announces as we dump the bags on the kitchen bench. ‘We’re making risotto.’ She pulls up a recipe on her phone. In the picture is a bowl of something ricey with bits of chicken in it. It does look pretty good, except that it’s got these little flecks of green stuff mixed through it. Generally I’m not big on green flecks but I’m not about to say that when Carolyn’s looking semi-cheerful again.

‘Have you ever made risotto before?’ I ask.

‘No,’ says Carolyn. ‘But I know it’s going to be good. Trust me.’

We spend the next half-hour chopping and peeling like crazy, and then Carolyn starts cooking. And soon I can tell that she was right. The risotto smells great. I start feeling even hungrier than before. ‘Maybe you could be a chef or something?’ I say.

‘Maybe,’ says Carolyn, shrugging – but I can tell she’s pleased I said it.

We’re just finishing when we hear Mum’s key in the door. We grin at each other. Mum takes a few steps inside, and suddenly stops. ‘Oh my god!’ we hear her say. ‘What is that incredible smell?’

‘We made dinner!’ I call out.

Mum practically runs down the hallway. When she sees the risotto she gets a little teary and has to fan her face with a junk-mail catalogue. It’s kind of weird to me that rice could make you cry, but that’s my mum for you.

We make Mum sit down and I pour her a glass of juice while Carolyn serves the risotto onto three plates. She doesn’t just glug it on like I would’ve done. She puts a neat ladle on each plate and then a little sprig of parsley to one side for decoration. It looks just like it did in the picture on her phone.

The risotto is really creamy and delicious and not at all weird to eat. Even the green flecks taste pretty good. Mum goes a bit over the top with the compliments. Apparently, it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever eaten.

It’s not until we’ve eaten the entire pot of risotto, and I’ve cleared away the plates, and Mum’s produced a block of chocolate from somewhere (which we’re almost – but not quite – too full to eat), that Carolyn tells her about Max. She looks sad as she says it, but she doesn’t cry this time.

Mum gives her a hug, and then pulls me into it too. ‘There’s something very strange going on in the world when three people as fabulous as us are single!’

It’s nice the way she says it. Like the three of us are in this together. Because break-ups suck, no matter how old you are, no matter what the reasons were, no matter how long the relationship lasted. We talk about it for a while, and then Mum squeezes our hands tightly. ‘We’ve got to look after each other. Be kind. Help each other through.’

We all promise that we will.

I’m in my room after dinner when Mum knocks and comes in. She’s holding a catalogue and she puts it on my desk in front of me. It’s open to the lingerie page and one of the bras has been circled with red pen. ‘What do you think of that one?’ she asks. The bra doesn’t have diamantés or padding, but the fabric is a pretty pearly-pink colour with darker pink swirls across it.

‘I like it,’ I say.

Mum looks pleased. ‘Carolyn pointed it out. It’s a good brand too, one that will last.’

I’m feeling kind of excited now. Because she wouldn’t be showing it to me if she wasn’t planning on buying it for me, right? ‘I’m going to put it on layby for you,’ Mum says. ‘I’ll pay a little bit off each month and I’ll have paid the whole thing off by your birthday.’

My birthday! That’s over six months away. But I know better than to complain. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, giving her a hug. ‘Could you get the 8B? I think I’ll really need that size by then.’

Mum opens her mouth like she’s about to disagree, then changes her mind and nods instead. ‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’