Wednesday 27th June

Straddling the kerbside, defying death as the 136 whooshed past, sending me swirling in to the air like a helium filled balloon set free from a net on the ground, I photographed the iconic scene, my friends all assembled like the comrades that we are; Natasha, Sarah, Harry, Liam, Niall and Louis, even poor Eleanor Baxter, I love them all.

We have gathered together here at the finish line. A full stop has been placed at the end of this pivotal chapter of our young lives, and we should be happy. No, happy is an understatement, we should be jubilant, euphoric, why the most positive adjective that ever existed, and about to embark upon endless weeks of a care-free, cider filled, snog fest with the fittest specimens that our youth has to offer.

Yet all I feel is misery. A dark cloud has descended over my head, bringing with it an eagerness to precipitate right all over my summer, the ironic bit being that it's not even raining outside. Alas I've chosen to spend these first few days of freedom swimming in tears, drowning in a never ending bath time, forever listening to the prophetic words of Boyzone. How does Ronan Keating know so well that my life is ending? My knees clamped to my chest, the tears keep streaming, tumbling from my face and on to my legs.

I'm hopelessly seeking an explanation, to better understand the reason for my suddenly sombre mood, but I'm unable find an answer; all I know is that there is now a rupturing hole in my life, and like Gaping Gill, the entrance is small and little light can get through, but beneath the surface opens up a great cavern of emptiness.

I'm choked by the realisation that Year 11 is over, and with no idea what I'm going to do tomorrow, or the day after that, for the rest of my life, I'm lost and mourning the death of my youth.

Never again will I walk to the fish shop on a Friday lunchtime and eat fish-cake sandwiches on the bench with my friends. Who knows if we'll even see each other again? Okay, I know we're going to Sixth Form together, but that's a very big place, with its own Common Room and vending machine and everything. Why does everything have to change when I was quite happy with the way things were?

'Simone, is there a problem?' Mother startled my dreary thoughts, her forceful knock hitting like a hammer on my head. I've been in the bath for nearly two hours; has she only just realised that there might be a problem?

'I'm fine, go away!'

'Are you crying?'

'No,' I sobbed, 'why would I be crying?'

'I've absolutely no idea, but I'm certain that you are. Right, that's it, get out of that bath now or I'm phoning the Doctor. It's not normal to be weeping like this, for no reason, and things could be a lot worse. You could have to go to work like me, and then you would know what true misery is.' I sank down into the bath, her words turning to a cotton wool filled noise as the water covered my ears.

Monday 2nd July

Natasha's altruism knows no limits. Having heard my wails she's insistent on rescuing me from this trench of self pity. Why I wish she'd realise that I might be happy here, mouldering amongst the wasteland, and bog off. Bunny rabbits and glee filled marshmallows are not to everyone's taste you know.

'This is supposed to be the best summer of our lives!' is all she keeps saying, but how can she be so cheery when there's so little certainty about her future? Doesn't she worry that in five years time, and after spending endless monies on our education, we'll end up penniless rejects answering phone calls from people whose washing machines and microwaves have broken?

Worst of all, she's put together a contingency plan to help me get a grip, but I think she must be confused; otherwise why would she believe that I would want to spend my leisure time enduring the company of Harry and Liam, and just how exactly will this help me smile again?

"'The Boys", she keeps calling them. They're called Harry and Liam I want to scream; they have proper adult names, something far more desirable than this utterly gross label. Why it makes me want to puke right over her Sketchers. She's like an overzealous puppy, constantly panting at their knees, her tongue hanging out, and rolling over asking for her belly to be scratched, but seriously, who would actually want to touch her stomach?

The worst part is that she's always gushing the most ludicrous compliments at their more than welcoming egos, saying things like,

'I'll help with that Harry. Your mum is so wonderful and generous Liam; my mum say's so all the time. I can give you my brother's number Harry; he'll get you on to the first team.'

And never once does she question whatever sewage either one of them might be spouting. Doesn't she have an opinion of her own? My ears ring with grotesqueness of it all, and if I were her I'd poke my eyes out with self loathing.

Thursday 13th August

Dear Simone,

Please don't hate me for writing you this letter, but I think you have probably figured out by now that I love you. You are completely the most ravishingly beautiful, intelligent woman that I have ever met, and so I wanted to ask if you would consider being my girlfriend?

I'm sorry if this causes you distress to hear, but it's better that I tell you the truth than never try, for I spend every waking hour, and plenty of the dreaming ones too, imagining how wonderful life would be if we were together. I feel that we have a connection of the soul; the way you laughed last week when we spoke about the irony of "Travis's" new song, "Happy", it cemented what I've always known, that when I look in to your eyes, eyes like pools, I'm overwhelmed by the emotion which you are hiding. It must be a daily struggle to battle against your isolation, and I long for you to share this with me. If you can't take me up on this offer I will understand, but know that I will always be here for you.

Yours, Liam.

PS – I'll happily write you poetry if that's what it takes to win your heart.

I've just re-read the letter for the tenth time, yet still my hands are shaking, and what's with all this laughing? What's so funny about Liam Payne declaring his love to me? Oh my life! I'll give him credit, it takes guts to send such a raw, honest confession, to make himself vulnerable, but what does he expect, of course I don't want to be his bloody girlfriend! How many times do I have to tell him? And now he's gone and written it down, posting the evidence all over my house, forcing me in to acknowledging its existence. Maybe if I don't say anything then he'll just assume that it got lost in the post? But this is Liam, he's probably got it tagged, and by some technological wizardry has been alerted to my receipt, opening and reading of the letter. I can't read, that's what I'll tell him. I did receive a letter, but what was in it I don't have a clue; it may as well have been in French given my grasp of the English Language. Wait, that's no good either; he knows I got a B in my English mock exam. "I can help you work towards the A you deserve", he had said when we got our results. I'd thought I wanted to punch him then but that was nothing compared to this most uninvited annoyance.

Thursday 27th August

As a plethora of unlucky souls headed out of the door, their heads hanging, as they walked the plank to the dead end of their future, I took a deep breath and approached the desk.

Remember it's okay if I've failed French, I mean who speaks French in the real world anyway? "Les sausage", I had muttered during the oral exam, as the teacher had pointed at pictures of random food items. Les sausage indeed, that's what I'll be if I haven't passed Maths and English.

'You'll never get a job without them.' Mothers words of encouragement echoed in my ears.

I stared at the piece of paper, searching for the letter C. That's all I need, just a few tiny C's. Panicking, unable to identify the required letter, the words began to morph, unexpectedly sprinkling in front of me a tray of diamonds and jewels.

'Well done Simone,' Miss Lee beamed, her teeth glistening nearly as brightly as the piece of paper which my trembling hands held on to.

'I've got an A* Miss Lee, can you believe it? An A*!'

Later

Reaching the summit of bridge, standing high above the railway tracks, my jubilation faltered. A big dark question mark has filled its place in my head. Just what exactly am I supposed to do now? Marvelling at the cloudless sky, in hope of finding an answer, I choked as it remained elusive. I've got an A*, I've worked so hard to get it, but now that I have it just what am I meant to do with it? With it and the rest of my life? I only ever thought up to this point, it never crossed my mind that there might actually be a day after Results Day.

'Oh Simone, it's okay, you can take re-sits,' Mother clung to the door as I approached the drive way of home, 'but you should have listened to Daddy when he said you needed to be working harder.'

'Don't blame Daddy,' I thrust the piece of paper in to her hands and ran upstairs.

'My daughter, she's passed all of her GCSE's,' I heard her talking on the telephone, telling someone inconsequential, a cold caller no doubt, about my unexpected success, 'she's got nine of them altogether, and one of them, well, it's a starred A. Four A's plus a star. I always said she'd be this family's salvation.'

Saturday 29th August

Why the last thing I dream to do at this so dire of times is attend yet another moronic party, especially one celebrating the end of my life as I know it. Why doesn't anyone get it, that I'll be thoroughly rejoiceful when this summer is over, when the sun stops shining and people's parents stop going on vacation. At least then there will be less opportunity for such insipid house gatherings, and instead I can take comfort from the lengthening nights, their darkness reflecting my own feelings of dying self worth.

'I don't understand what the bloody problem is?' Mother's gushing has turned to frustration.

'But what am I meant to do now?' I sobbed.

'What do you mean, what are you meant to do?'

'With my life Mother. It's over!'

'Don't be so ridiculous. You'll do your A levels and then you'll go to University, just like everyone else.'

'University?' My heart grows heavier still.

I'm still so sick of Natasha, the personification of this perfect summer, her smile forever fuelling our nation's expectations that we, the youth, the hope, the future, should be out there and having a really great time. I feel compelled to weep whenever I'm with her, to yell, "you just don't get it do you? You and all your bloody glee; just admit that it's a lie, and that if you faced what's really inside then you'd have to concede that you feel like shit too." But she'll never do that, for she's far too chicken to face such introspection, just like the rest of them.

So I might be miserable and I might want to scream until the glass breaks, but at least I'm not a coward, at least I can acknowledge the truth. Oh but I am a coward, for if I manage to hold my mind together for long enough without plunging a knife into Natasha's vibrant heart, then I'll still have to deal with the misery of Liam, who of course is awaiting an answer. But I've none to give. In some twisted way it feels that Harry is the only one left. How has it happened that Harry Styles is my only friend?

Sunday 30th August

Seeking comfort in Harry was a major faux pas, but really what did I expect? And now I find myself here, again, without a single friend in the world. Dear Lord, why can't I just meet someone who gets me; someone who shares my tastes and interests and has opinions that I can challenge and enjoy? But instead all you give me is this lot, a gang of grubs barely able to articulate the alphabet.

I had clung to Harry's arm as we walked in to the party, desperate to rid myself of both Natasha and Liam. Yet there was no getting away, for Natasha had linked on to his other arm, always diverting the conversation to whatever inane nonsense she happened to want to talk about this time.

'Simone, will you stop talking about Portishead,' she ordered, 'Harry doesn't even like them. He likes Robbie, just like me. Not all of us want to be depressives you know. No wonder you're so miserable listening to that sort of music all of the time.'

'I am not miserable.'

'Yeah, you are.'

My eyes grew heavy from the wetness of tears which again threatened to embarrass me. Why wretched body must you do this to me now? Show some control for once!

'Did someone mention Portishead? It was Liam, of course, who having heard our conversation, was clutching on to this most tenuous of excuses, 'I love Portishead,' he gushed, 'especially Dummy; it's such an amazing album.'

'Well I've never even heard it,' Natasha snapped.

'Simone, can we talk?' I had made the mistake of looking at him. I sighed, ready to splatter across the ground like a bowl of wobbling jelly, knocked from the table.

'Later Liam, I need the toilet.'

The corridor, now quiet, as I held my ear to the door, allowed me the courage to inch out of the sanctuary of bathroom. Thank goodness for barbeques; the hallway was empty.

'What are you doing in here on your own?' I found Harry alone and watching the football catch-up.

'Come here, surely it can't be that bad?' Observing my morose demeanour he offered his arms to me.

I slumped apathetically on to the sofa, looking up at him with all the patheticness of an abandoned infant, but the warmth of his presence, suddenly so comforting, wisped about me like a soporific blanket and granted me the relaxation of slumber.

The heat, now melting us together, drew his lips to mine, but instantly the temperature plummeted. How can it be that we were kissing again, yet another desperate union, and why should I be surprised? What did I think would have changed to make this a more appealing occasion?

Opening my eyes, once more his lips remained attached to mine, there was no letting go. Good grief, Niall's Labrador was kneeling next to us, its face nearly touching ours, and obviously wanting to join the action it dragged its pink tongue across Harry's cheek in much the same way that he was licking mine. Yuck.

'Where are you going?' I managed to unlock my lips from his, but was unable to hide my distaste. The dog, the kiss, the party, I was feeling really queasy.

'I need to go.'

'There you are!' Liam's face beamed as I bombed out the door, 'I've been looking for you.'

'I'm sorry.' It was all I could do to turn and run from the house and on to the road, desperate for freedom from the gigantic pillow that was smothering me. But where was I going?

Walking home, alone, in the dark, I have wept so much. I'm beginning to worry that even I don't know what the matter is anymore.