I sit in chemistry class, chewing on the ends of my hair, absent minded. I'm at the last question on my chemistry test. It's on carbon bonding. I tap my pencil on my hand, thinking how to put the answer down. I sneak a look at my phone's clock. Twenty minutes. I check either side of me. I'm way ahead, as usual.

I scrawl the answer, nearly biting my lip through to deal with the ache in my wrist. I have dyspraxia. The muscles in my wrist aren't the strongest, and get tired after a while. That's why I have a laptop usually, but I guess drawing out atomic shells isn't something you can do on the latest version of Microsoft Word. I finish, and double check everything through. I'm going to ace this test.

My name is Hana. Like the cherry blossoms. I cringe every time I have to meet someone new and tell them my name, though most of the time I can pretend it's spelt 'Hannah', and pretend my life is normal. It makes me or my family sound like massive anime fans, which we're not. I guess it would be fine if my best friend hadn't convinced me it was a good to dye my hair over last summer, because now the previously neon-pink glare emanating from my head like a light bulb is in that weird, streaky, faded stage where it just looks badly done.

Like the daughter of death needs more reasons to stand out.