As I lie in bed that night, listening to 'The 1812 Overture' By Tchaikovsky (and Dad unwrapping the chocolate in the pantry), I stare at the mandarins on my window sill. Orange, the size of my palm, perfectly round and...

I avert my gaze to my wrist, I hold it up out of the grey sheets. I wrap my thumb around it, and within a millisecond it touches my index finger. It touches my middle finger... ring finger... my pinkie... barely. I stamp out of bed, to the mirror in my bathroom. In the dark I can see my shadow, I flick on the lamp, eyes squinting and struggling to adjust.

I stare at my reflection. The scratch is illuminated, glaring out of me, eye slits... bright red...

Pathetic.

Pole.

Smart-arse.

Guys never liked you and never will.

I begin to shake, trembling in nothing but the light from the lamp. My skin prickles, my bones burn. My heart thumps beneath my chest, which heaves, up and down. I choke, and fall back onto the cold tiles.

Is there a God out there?

Heaven help me!

I let the tears fall, no one is around to see.

I stomp back into my bedroom, open my window wide and knock all the mandarins out to plummet towards the ground, forcefully... in fear... angrily! I watch as the fruit breaks apart from the impact on the pathway below.

I slam my window shut and force myself to sleep in the now cold sheets, after performing fifty star jumps, silently apologising to my neighbour below me, Emmet Byronne. I hear someone stand outside my door for a few moments, and I hold my breath to stop my puffing. They huff, it's my Dad because it's low and gravelly like his is at night. Mum would be at the hospital already.

That morning I find another mandarin on my window sill, probably Mum's returning gift from her shift at the hospital. I carefully walk over to the fruit, I pick it up and smell it... sweet and familiar, it smells of my room. Probably because my room is always filled with mandarins. I look down at the grey and gum stained footpath. The remains have been trodden on and the birds and pecking at it, a black colony of ants fighting for a portion.

I pop into the shower and get dressed without looking at my body in the mirror. I left the lamp on last night in my frustration. I prod at a small pimple near my hairline and hack a comb through my copper blonde hair, before blow drying the top layer and pinning it back. I catch my eyes for a moment too long in the mirror. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and open my door to my bedroom, which is connected to the bathroom.

I skip breakfast shoving some leftover salad in my bag and an Up & Go. Dad is typing away in his office, Mum in her room, mumbling away in her sleep. Apart from that the house is silent.

"Dad?" I slip in his study to say goodbye.

He turns around in his black chair, stubble covering his chin and flashing a loving smile. I can see how mum fell in love with him, he truly is handsome and exciting ... 'for an accountant'. Mum says I have his eyes, which were the most striking feature of Dad's which captured her at university.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to school now," I reply.

"Have you got enough food?" Dad asks, eyeing my suspiciously.

"Of course, I've taken the salad for lunch."

"Do you want to take a mandar-"

"NO! I'm fine, I've got an apple," I lie.

"Okay then. Have fun, try to avoid the trees."

I giggle with him, playing along. I pack my books and my homework that I completed late last night. I sneak into my parent's room and kiss Mum goodbye. Running down the many stairs of the apartment, I make my way towards the train station, through the rush hour crowds.

I avoid the mandarin mush on the pavement, now looking absolutely disgusting. The rush hour crowds are filled with morning commuters and eager drivers, horns and honking everywhere. Yet one yell conquers all.

"Is that you Petria Kafka?"

My head whips around and I see my neighbour (one of them), Emmet Byronne. He normally goes to catch a train in the inner city, opposite to where I am heading. What is he doing?

"Yes, Emmet?"

"What was with the flying mandarins last night?"

I turn and glare at him. He recoils and I soften my expression, he struggles to keep up so I slow down for him to catch up.

"Isn't your station that way?" I ask, pointing in the direction he had just come from, trying to change the subject, but sounding rude in the process.

He looks taken aback, "Yes but last night mandarins came galloping past my window and I only assumed it was you!"

"H-how so?"

"I heard you get up above me, move around, eventually open the window and jump about," he sighs.

"What's it to you?"

"It's not everyday fruit-"

I scowl down at my watch, "Look, if we keep chatting, we're going to miss our trains. You know I'm clumsy, I was probably sleep walking again..."

"You're not that clumsy! Can we come over tonight to do our homework?"

I am that clumcy. I sigh. It's tradition for the kids of our apartment block to get together and do our assignment and help each other when we can. It started when I first moved here, Mum wanted me to initiate something... before... never mind. 

"Um, yeah sure... I need to go, uh, bye."

He waves and runs off as fast as his short legs allow.

I arrive at the train station and tap my smart rider to the entrance gate and run toward the entrance which is already on the platform. I jump in just as the train doors are about to close. Mianna catches my eye as soon as she I walk in and takes out an earphone. I sit in the always empty seat next to her and ignore her gaze. She clears her throat but I look out the window.

She shoves an earphone in my ear, her movie soundtrack up full blast and frying my brain.

"Hey!" I hiss, ripping it out.

"Well stop ignoring me, Tria!" Mianna gasps.

"I don't want to talk about it," I reply, staring at my checked school skirt.

"Are you feeling alright after Talons' attack?" she whispers.

"Mixed," I grunt.

"As long as you aren't feeling worthless again...And about my challenge?"

I fiddle with my skirt's hem.

"Do it today and I stop bugging youuuu!" she sings in my ear. \

"Fine," I choke, my stomach knotting up again.

"Who's it gonna be?"

I remain silent.

"You haven't chosen yet, have you?"

I turn to her and gently slap her knee, "It's not like guys are a multi-pack of biscuits!"

I roll my eyes, "Is this the best way?"

"It's a challenge," she states, and puts her earphones back in, marking the end of the conversation.

When the train pulls up at the station, we grab our bags and make our way to school, silently for the first time in our walking-to-school-from-the-station-history. I look at her, and see a smirk plastered on her face that isn't budging. She side-eyes me for a second, just as the bell sounds. Her eyes seem to say 'do it or you'll you did'.

What the heck had I gotten myself into?

Mianna isn't in any of my morning subjects, English and Civics, so when she sits next to me in recess the look on her face is priceless. She looks like a spoilt five-year-old on Christmas Eve, expectant.

"At lunch," I promise and she sighs in disappointment.

Klaer begins to walk past, packet of Burger Rings in her hand, bag on one shoulder, a dangerous saunter in her step. Her head shoots towards my own and I run a finger over my scratched cheek automatically.

"Haven't discovered foundation yet, Kafka?" she sneers.

Since when were we on last name basis? I bite my lip.

Mianna stands up, "She prefers not to drown in it like other individuals, naming no names... Armadale!"

Klaer ignores my best friend's witty remark, "Nor have you discovered food for that matter. You're starting to resemble a string bean! Wait... you wouldn't know what that is!"

It's my turn to stand up, grab my bag and Mianna'a wrist and walk to the library, as far away as possible. Mianna hugs me tight and whispers apologies and I nod.

It's time to take action.