Why did the tree go to the dentist?

To get a root canal.

Scarlett arrives again the next day. And the day after that.

Every morning, I hop into her orange Mini and am offered junk food, then we turn the music up as high as it will go and race away together: driving, eating, singing, talking, laughing.

By the time she zooms up the driveway on the fourth day, smashes into a five-tiered plant pot and beeps seven times, I can’t believe I ever found her intimidating.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, it feels like I’ve actually escaped my life. And it is glorious.

Beep. Beep. Beepbeepbeepbeep—

‘I’M COMING!’ I yell cheerfully, sticking my head out and waving at her. ‘KEEP YOUR KNICKERS—’

‘Oooh!’ There’s an excitable voice behind me. ‘Are we climbing out of windows now, Eff? So cinematic! You know, I don’t have a fire escape, but I think I could totally get out on the ledge and hop across if I work on my jumping skills.’

I pause in horror, one foot on my windowsill.

Hope’s standing in the doorway – optimism lighting up her heart-shaped face – and I’m suddenly cold all over. I cannot be responsible for my little sister trying to hop across a third-storey roof in an attempt to be exactly like me.

Consequences might be for tomorrow, but mine cannot be Po splatted on the driveway.

‘I’m not climbing out!’ I laugh, quickly pulling back in. ‘That’s very dangerous, Hope. Promise me you’ll never, ever climb out of your window, OK? I was just … checking. To. See. If … it’s raining.’

Rain is pelting the window like bullets. I’m literally the worst actress on the planet.

‘It is.’ Po nods guilelessly. ‘That’s what all the water is!’

Then she plops on to the bed and stares round my room with her usual expression of awe. ‘I haven’t seen you in days, Eff,’ she says breathlessly, ‘and I’ve got so much to tell you. Ben’s been teaching me how to play Scrabble! Except he lets me make up words because he says it’s my specialility.’

I laugh. ‘Good for Ben.’

‘Do you want to see him? I know he’s dying to spend some time with you.’

For the love of—

‘I’m a bit busy, Po. Can you keep him entertained for me while I’m out?’

‘Yes.’ She nods gravely. ‘I am highly entertaining. That’s what Ben says anyway. Also, Effie, please, please, please can I touch your head? It’s all over the papers and I’m your sister and I haven’t even touched it yet! Please?’

With a small smile, I take my cream beanie off.

The paps caught a photo of my bald head two days ago and it’s now being discussed in depth across the national media. Nobody can decide if I’m heartbroken, or if I’ve had a nervous breakdown, or I’m making a feminist statement, or I’m trying to get attention, or I’m just trialling a brave new military look.

Either way, everyone has an opinion. Plus, strangers have started randomly touching my head without asking first.

‘Oh my goodness!’ Po squeaks, running her hands over my scalp like it’s a magic crystal ball. ‘So cool! The mags are saying you’re even more beautiful without your hair and I agree – you’ve totally started a trend!’

‘Thanks, baby.’ I kiss her cheek. ‘Also, I can run, like, fifteen per cent faster now. Less air resistance.’

My sister’s eyes widen. ‘Really?’ She pulls on her curly ponytail and grabs a pair of scissors from my desk. ‘So do I—’

‘No.’ I take the scissors out of her hands and yank my beanie firmly back on. ‘Hope, leave your lovely hair alone.’

‘OK,’ she sighs dramatically as I grab my bag and head for the door. ‘Celery.’

I pause. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Celery.’ My sister rolls her eyes and says patiently, ‘It’s what people say when they’re resigned to something really unfortunate, because nobody really likes celery, but we all have to eat it anyway.’

A bubble of laughter pops in my throat.

‘You mean c’est la vie, sweetheart. It’s French for that’s life. But keep using celery – I love it nearly as much as I love you. Have fun entertaining Ben today, OK?’

Blowing her a kiss, I run down the stairs in a way that can be easily copied without causing my sister bodily harm.

My phone pings.

Hey. What do I have to do? Tell me. :( :( Nxx

With a sharp twist of the stomach, I reply:

I need a bit more time. Sorry. Fxx

I’m hurting too – of course I am – but I still don’t know quite how I feel or what I want to say to him.

My phone buzzes again.

Please don’t go out with Dylan Harris. :(

You know what? Maybe I do.

Please don’t kiss other girls. Oh, whoops. Too late.

Crossly, I jam my phone firmly into my pocket.

Life is for today.

‘Heya, Letty!’ I call out, swinging open the front door. ‘So which way do you want to head this time? I was thinking we could hit the motorway, drive north and—’

My stomach lurches: a different car is coming up the driveway. Silver. Big.

What day is it? Tell me it’s not Wednesday. It’s totally Wednesday, isn’t it?

No, no, no, no, no—

‘Quick!’ Slamming the front door behind me, I run through the pelting rain as fast as I can and jump into Scarlett’s passenger seat. ‘Go! Go! Drive! Drive!’

‘Wow,’ she grins, reaching for the gearstick. ‘I feel like your getaway driver. Do we get to split the cash you’ve just nicked?’

What is taking so long?

‘DRIVE!’ I yell as she fiddles with the ignition (‘this old banger never starts first time round, hang on, there’s a knack to it, just gotta—’). ‘SCARLETT, DRIVE AWAY RIGHT NOW! GO! GO! GO!’

It’s too late. Genevieve has stepped out of the limo and is standing calmly behind the Mini so we can’t go anywhere. The rain is hammering down and she’s soaking wet, motionless and unblinking – like something out of a horror movie.

‘RUN HER OVER!’ I yell. ‘No. Don’t do that. Just—’

‘Faith?’ Genevieve calls out through the rain. ‘I’ll need you to come with me.’