It's a mystery to me why you didn't forget me sooner. Why is it that you waited until just a few weeks ago before I was nothing? Why is it that until three or four weeks ago you still hugged me in greeting and now you hardly raise your hand?
That's the mystery to me. It was surely only a matter of time. Everyone grows up and leaves me behind, not realising that I'm already old inside. Everyone changes and forgets who I am, and then there's me. Sitting there, left alone. I don't have to grow up because I've been old since I was born.
I'll always be older than those around me. That's what I've found.
Bekah, you don't seem to understand. Sure, I'm weird. I don't fit in. I'm not one of the older ones--I'm only Year 9--but I'm not a kid and I don't want to hang around with the younger ones. I'm just piggy in the middle, as usual.
So can't you see that people like me need the comfort more than others? People like me, we need someone to tell us that it doesn't matter who we are or what our interests are, or how screwed up we are, because someone's there for us. And I used to think you were that someone. But I was wrong.
I've always been a freak because I don't know how to be normal. I'll always be a freak because I can't make myself be normal. I can't betray what I'm really like inside. It's just not fair. I'm alone and at this rate, I always will be. I used to think you didn't judge me for that.
I really thought you didn't judge me, Bekah. And when I realised I was wrong it killed me inside.
But however much you hate me, however much you judge me, however much you tell me I'm a freak or ignore me completely, I'm still your old friend, and I'll still be here when you need a shoulder to cry on.
That's a promise.
And Bekah? I don't know if you realised, but you're the only person who never tried to help me when my Grandad passed away. You're the only person who didn't try to comfort me. For which I was perhaps grateful, but it hurt too. It hurt so much.