Justine
Justine sat on Melanie’s bed, watching her sleep. Melanie lay on her side with her knees pulled up to her stomach, her eyelashes dark, perfect crescents. She looked achingly young. Justine hadn’t said anything to her about the meeting with Mrs Sorensen the day before – about the bullying or the drawings. Especially not the drawings. Although she was still confident they weren’t of Patrick, their urgent lines pulsed with an anguish that worried and confused her. She didn’t know what to say to Melanie about them. But she did think she knew what to do.
She put her hand on Melanie’s leg. Melanie opened her eyes and her face fell into its familiar dour lines. She looked exhausted despite the night’s rest.
‘It’s time for school,’ Justine said, ‘but you don’t have to go.’
Melanie eyed
