Twenty-One
Memory 11
On the bus, on the way home to complete the final part of my transformation, Viggo was all I could think of.
I wanted Viggo to approve of the new me. I wanted Viggo to like me.
Love me.
My little crush was something much deeper now.
It was as if some other girl had inhabited my body: a girl who hadn’t always been a nerdy tomboy, who hadn’t spent the better part of her life being best friends with a boy for whom fashion is whichever black shirt smells least like armpit. A girl who hadn’t ditched her Grade Ten leaver’s dinner because there was a Doctor Who special on, who hadn’t spent a year’s savings on tickets to Ben Folds with the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra.
I knew it was bizarre. I knew I was acting so out-of-character everyone must be thinking I was possess
