The deadline was final and unnegotiable. When Matt turned 18, his case would be reviewed and, unless serious progress had been made, he would be moved to a mental healthcare centre for adults. Ellie and Matt had to get discharged before Matt hit 18, or they would be separated. Somehow, having the deadline only made them work harder. It wasn't Soon anymore, it was Before Then, and each passing day could be counted down.

"I'm taking Ellie out for a walk."

"Okay. Have you made a note of the route?" Caroline said, pulling the brush through the thick hair of one of the younger children.

"Yes. 35 minutes." Matt shrugged a coat over his shoulders.

"That's 5 minutes longer than yesterday. Are you sure?"

"Positive. We've got an emergency exit, we won't be more than 10 minutes away at any one point, don't worry."

Matt helped Ellie into her coat with a wink and they walked arm in arm out of the door.

They had scheduled 35 minutes, but only 20 of those were for walking. They met Knuckles in the park and fed the ducks from a bench.

"Your move." Knuckles said, handing Matt a small, black sketchbook.

They had been playing this game since their first meeting. The whole sketchbook was one, continuous drawing, passing through many different landscapes. They would pass the book back and forth at every meeting, with each boy adding something new on their turn. The result was one of the most intricate and detailed pieces of art Ellie had ever seen. It was rife with the emotions of several months of ups and downs and ins and outs and carried the stories of two vivid, undulating lives. They had asked Ellie to join, promising that it didn't matter whether or not she could draw, but she had declined. She didn't use art as a creative outlet. She wouldn't have known what to draw, it would have been empty and meaningless and glaringly out of place in that story. It wasn't how she poured.

Ellie wrote, and mostly she wrote about the boys.

Wednesday 4th

Knuckles has a cut on his lip. Matt noticed and he wouldn't stop staring the whole time like he wanted to say something, but he didn't. Knuckles knew what Matt was looking at, but he didn't bring it up. He looked uncomfortable. He doesn't like being stared at like that. He's more used to people staring terrified at their feet when he's talking to them.

Me and Matt spent the walk home talking about Knuckles. We talk about him a lot these days. It's a constant debate. To me, he's always been gentle and kind and kind of quiet in many ways. He talks to Matt as if he were talking to a God – there's an audible reverence in his tone. It makes me feel so proud of Matt, because I know he deserves that. I want the whole world to be in awe of Matthew Marwick.

But there's a problem with Knuckles. Good deeds don't always redeem bad ones, and just because we've only seen the nicer aspects of his personality doesn't mean we should ignore the way he treats other people, or at least has treated them in the past. All we've got to go on is what his friends had told us about him. As far as we can tell, he's returned to college and is keeping his head down just trying to finish his A Levels. He missed a lot of lessons though and he failed last term completely, so I don't know if he'll make it. I hope he does. I feel like he deserves it. Or at least, if he gets his grades then he'll be able to become a person who deserves it. I have a lot of faith in his vitality and endless strife to better himself and the world around him, and I think he can do it, but I'm scared of what will happen if he fails his exams. He won't get a scholarship to retake the year at Bradfield, and without qualifications he probably wouldn't be able to find a job.

Matt takes the discussion more seriously than I thought he would. I think he's become quite invested in Knuckles, the same way that Knuckles cares so much about Matt and I. We're fighting very different battles, but we're in them together. We stand united. Maybe we'll all end up buying a little house in the middle of a forest together. I'd like that.

Thursday 5th

There's not much to say about today. I don't want to write about boring things like what I ate and what movie I watched because I tried that before but it got so dull that I stopped writing completely. I've made myself a new pact and I'm writing it down to make it official – no take backs. I'm going to write something every day, even if it's just one sentence or a random train of thought. Any writing is practice, and I've promised Matt that if I haven't written a book by the time I'm 20 he's allowed to punch me.

Friday 6th

It's even more official than it was yesterday because I wrote it in my action plan. It's the first thing I've written in the future plans section, under 'potential careers'. I want to be a writer. Caroline sighed a little bit when she read it, but she congratulated me and gave me a hug. I know what she was thinking. It would have been a lot easier if I'd put 'waitress' or something, getting a writing job is difficult even for healthy people. She nearly asked me if I had a backup plan, but stopped herself. I'm glad really. There's nothing more demotivating than admitting a secret dream and being told you probably won't achieve it. But really, I know it's sensible. Maybe I'll find another job, and just write a novel on the side. I haven't tried to write a story longer than a few thousand words yet, but I will. Soon. Maybe I'll suggest it in therapy.

Saturday 7th

Today, the sun was the colour of a goldfish swimming through the sea/sky (I'm still working on metaphors). Sunset with Matt. We did lots of making plans in notebooks and it felt good.

Sunday 8th

Knuckles and Matt are creating some sort of magical fairy forest kingdom in their sketchbook. I think it's my favourite yet. I want it on my wall.

Tuesday 10th

Missed a day. Was going to write it in, but it felt like cheating. Oops. Today, I had another idea for a novel. It would be part-fantasy, an alternate universe where animals didn't exist, except as stories like dragons and dinosaurs. I'm working on it. I've got the mythology all worked out, I just need to write the thing now. One day.

Wednesday 11th

I have to pick some GCSEs to take. I want to do them all. I'm not just interested in some things, I'm interested in everything. I want to know everything. It's no good knowing about Geography but not having the faintest clue about History. And the mix together. You learn about things that happened in the past in Geography. I want to do Psychology, but I want to do Spanish too. Learning a language shouldn't be an option, it should be something extra on the side. Everyone who wants to should be able to learn a language if they want to, it's not fair to take that away.

Currently:

· English (obviously)

· Maths (don't have a choice)

· Science (ditto, but science is cool)

· ICT (aka how to turn on a computer and open a word document. Again, compulsory, but it doesn't matter if I fail this one so I'll probably get an A* as I won't panic about it)

· Spanish

· Geography

· Sociology

· Psychology?

· History?

· Textiles? (ok, probably not)

· Music?

Thursday 12th

My English tutor thinks I should do History instead of Geography, but she has a degree in History so I think she's biased. I'm warming towards Music, but I don't play any instruments. Maybe I could persuade them to let me learn because it's supposed to be therapeutic and really calming.

Friday 11th

Did some Spanish today. I'll be really behind everyone else because I've never studied it before, but the tutor showed me some language websites I could learn on before we start properly. I reckon I can do it.

Matt's been getting A*s in all his Maths practice papers. A level Maths makes less sense than Spanish. Apparently, the squiggly letters are Greek. I do not want to do A level Maths.

Saturday 14th

Caroline took me shopping today. I've been scared all week because I was sure I would panic inside a building, but it was okay. It was the fear of panicking that made me anxious. I was so convinced I wouldn't be able to do it that I nearly couldn't, but I did. When I got back, Knuckles and Matt were waiting for me outside of my room. Some of the other carers, Jonas and Eleanor and a lady who looked after the really young kids, were there too. They all had big grins on their face, as if they were hiding a cool secret that they could barely contain. Matt held my hand because he could see that I was anxious, and then he opened my bedroom door.

It was a fairy kingdom like the one Matt and Knuckles had been drawing, but somehow so much more beautiful and magical. And it was all over my walls. There were plants, too. I love plants but I only had two cacti on my windowsill – at least until now. Now, there were whole trees (the house plant kind, obviously. Not like, an oak tree) in large pots with red, triangular leaves and long, spindly branches. I stepped a little closer, my mouth agape as I caught sight of the tiny wooden houses and bridges and fairy swings nestled amongst the branches. Then I realised the landscape Matt and Knuckles had been creating in their sketchbook wasn't just a drawing, it was a plan.

I wondered how they possibly could have done all this in the few hours I had gone, but then I got a little closer and realised that – bar the one wall by my bed – the paintings were actually large canvases hung floor to ceiling.

"In case you didn't like it, or didn't want your whole room like that. I mean, it is a bit much." Matt said anxiously.

Words had completely abandoned me by that point so I just engulfed him in the biggest hug my skinny arms could manage, and I tried to put a lot of words into it. Then I hugged Knuckles and he lifted me off the floor like he always does. My toes left the ground and I closed my eyes, burying my face into his shoulder.

"It was only me and Matt," he murmured into my hair. "We're the only ones that came in."

I was grateful for that information. The thought of people snooping in my room while I was out made me feel sick in my stomach. It wasn't really like I had anything incriminating in my room, but all the same: what if they found something awful when moving all my stuff out of the way? Matt and Knuckles however, that I didn't mind. My socks touched the carpet again and I smiled, breaking away.

"You guys are the best." I said finally. "It's so, so perfect."

"We nearly didn't get it done in time," Matt laughed. "Knuckles spilled a whole tray of blue paint over his head and had to take an emergency shower."

"I did think he seemed a little damp," I giggled. "You realise everyone here's going to want the Mackles treatment for their rooms now, right?"

"Mackles. Ew." Knuckles said with a wince. "We're going to have to come up with something better than that."

*

I've written quite a lot here now. Every day for three months, then a little less. More writing, but only a few times a week. Most of it's uninteresting and mundane, or just plain whiny. It's good having something you can whine to as much as you like without feeling like a burden, though. My friends promise they're always there for me and they're always ready to listen, but I know they get annoyed when I say the same things over and over. Sometimes things are too deep in your head to let them go with only one talk through.

I'm doing really well. There were lots of times when I wasn't, but each time I did well was even better than the last. Caroline says I'm on the home straight now, and I'm really trying to believe her because I know that feeling will help more than anything. That I really am nearly there. It's all up from here.

I'm writing properly again because I Knuckles failed his A levels. Matt and I knew as soon as he stopped replying to our messages. We tried to call over and over but he didn't pick up. We were so worried that we did something really awful – it was my idea. Matt texted Knuckles saying that I was panicking really bad because I was worried about him, and he didn't just reply he came all the way here. He was really, really down. He's asleep on my floor as I write this, and I think he's okay, at least more so than he was earlier.

Everyone was really sweet to him when he arrived. I think the workers have become quite attached, they've certainly been turning a blind eye to him visiting way out of hours. Sometimes it feels like he's here more than he's away.

One of the youngest children, a three year old called Gemma, was walking past the games room with Caroline on her way to the bath when she popped her head round the door. Knuckles was sat on the floor by my feet, dejectedly stirring his hot chocolate. With a bright 'Hello!' Gemma trotted straight up to him and pressed her chubby hand into his cheek.

"You're new." She declared.

A warm smile spread across Knuckles' face despite himself. "Hello." He said, holding very still.

The little girl traced Knuckles' scar with a finger while Caroline hovered nervously a few feet behind.

"What's that?" Gemma asked.

"Um..." Knuckles looked up panicked to Caroline for guidance, but she just shrugged helplessly. Children as young as Gemma usually only ended up in a facility like this one if something really awful had happened, and so this kind of behaviour was unusual to say the least. "It's a mark in my skin," Knuckles said gently. "It tells the story of something that happened to me."

Gemma nodded gravely. "It looks like a river."

"Yes, I suppose it does."

"I need to go for my bath now, but will you play Mario with me afterwards?"

"Well, I guess sure. But only if it's okay with Caroline."

"I'll cry if she says no."

"I guess that's okay then." Caroline muttered, taking the small girl by the hand again and leading her out of the room with a curious glance over her shoulder at Knuckles.

Matt and I exchanged a glance, and I smiled.

*

Knuckles had applied for a few universities, but with his poor grades and criminal record he wasn't holding out much hope. He'd been rejected from his first choices the moment his grades had come through, and now he was going through the arduous process of clearing trying to get places that hadn't been filled.

Over what remained of the summer, he and Matt painted nearly half the bedrooms in Oak Tree House. The kids were only allowed one wall, but they were allowed whatever they wanted and so the painting duo greatly broadened their range of art styles, painting transformers and ponies alike.

Despite his intimidating appearance, Knuckles was a hit with the younger children. They were fascinated with his piercings and new tattoos, and had even invented a game where they would race to touch his scar. As for me, I've started writing a book.

It started out as stories I told the little ones before bed, making them up on the spot and embellishing with each retelling. I can't spend any time with Knuckles anymore without also hanging out with a horde of adoring three to twelve year olds. But they didn't want new stories every night, they wanted to know what happened to Faye the fairy princess after she defeated the giants, and then what happened to her fairy children after she had married her True Love. And so, in my own square fairy kingdom, I started to write a children's book.

At first I'd been unsure. I didn't want to write some silly fantasy adventure full of cliché and mild sexism, I wanted to write a harrowing novel for adults that changed lives and was a brutally harsh analysis of society and all its flaws. But that's easier said than done, and eventually I was forced to admit that perhaps I hadn't quite experienced enough of life and society to psychoanalyse it just yet. There isn't anything wrong with fairytales. Nothing feels more real and impactful than the adventures a person has as a child, after all. For the child bullied at school or with a rough home life, being able to escape into a fantasy world with a book can make all the difference.

My writing has really improved since I started with earnest. My English tutor has noticed, and she reads everything, except this. This is for me. It's not really a diary any more, rather my story and the stories of the people I love. I don't feel the need to write about my feelings anymore, because I can convey them with the way I write. I think that's the most valuable piece of writing I've ever had – show, don't tell. Don't tell the reader 'Ellie felt sad', show them in the downward tilt of her head and heavy sighs. Show them in the way she puts down her book after only a few pages, disinterested. Show them in the smudged makeup and shadows under her eyes. Show them your characters and let them feel the emotions for themselves.

Maybe I'm being conceited and pretentious, but I think I can do it. I think I can write and create. I turn sixteen next week, and I want to get my book finished and maybe even published by the time I'm seventeen. That would be cool.

And then I'll be able to get into university to study English even though I won't have so many qualifications as anyone else. I'll write another book while I'm studying. I'll make enough money to pay off some of my student loans, and maybe even go travelling. I'll climb a mountain and write books and take on the world. I want to see all there is to see and learn all there is to learn. That's the plan. And I'm going to do it.