Christie woke up at 5:55 that morning. She rolled out of bed and fell flat on the floor, groaning while pushing herself up with her weak forearms.

She clutched her stomach as the nausea caused the bile to rise in her throat and ran to the toilet heaving. Nothing came out. The nausea deepened as Christie saw herself in the mirror.

She parted her blonde hair straight down the mirror and brought the comb down, through the ringlets. Ten strokes on each side.

The next thing she attacked was her face. The unsightly bags under her eyes shone like a city on a hill. She opened the bathroom drawer and rifled through her sister's make-up kit before pulling out a container of concealer. The concealer was applied, only for it to be wiped off five times before Christie threw it back into the drawer and threw the make up wipe in the bin. She pushed her shoulders back and walked out of the bathroom.

"Get me out of here," she whispered.

Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world. Marilyn Monroe was most likely talking about high heels but the sentiment's right, Christie thought as she pulled on her Doc Martens. She tied and untied her laces five times even though each time she tied them they were tight enough and double knotted.

Just by wearing the shoes Christie felt rebellious (even if uniform policy couldn't officially pick her up for wearing them).

Her toast popped at exactly 7:15

By 8:14 she had checked the door lock fifteen times, fought with her sister over the concealer and sat in the car waiting for her mother and sister.

The morning was going to plan.

If Brielle kept fixing her hair Christie would be yelling in approximately two minutes.

Christie put her headphones in and clicked on a Diviynls' song. She turned the sound down so she could barely distinguish the song and listen to her parents. For two people trying to have a quiet conversation they were awfully loud.

"We can't keep her going like this. I want to start her on the antidepressants again," her mother said.

"Remember what happened last time, she wouldn't sleep, she refused to do anything and she lost any type of motivation she once had," her father said.

"Because you stopped her from using them one week in."

"She's a smart girl, if you take that away from her she has nothing that she believes is of worth."

Christie turned her music off, holding her shaking hands between her thighs.

Christie reached Astwright High School at 8:25, fifteen minutes until homeroom.

As she walked through the school gates heads turned. Christie dipped her head and clutched her laptop to her chest. The volume of her music increased. Her eyes flickered around. Six Year 7's. Four Year 9's. Two groups of four Year 11's. A group of four Year 10's. All of whom were staring at her.

"Christie!" Tegan yelled from the group of Year 10's.

Christie flinched at her voice and shuffled over and nestled into the group between Tegan and Delilah.

"Are we still on for this arvo?" Tegan asked.

Christie nodded once. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wesley offer Delilah a breakfast biscuit which Delilah broke and offered to Christie, who nibbled at it. Delilah rested her head against Christie's forearm, wrapping her arms around Christie's torso.

That day the five of them were called down to the school counsellor's separately. Twice in Marc and Christie's case.

Tegan was sent down to the deputy's office for losing it at her maths teacher, screaming that she would never need parabolas after leaving school.

At lunch Tegan sat at the wooden table writing an apologetic letter to her teacher. Marc had a thesaurus pulled up on his computer and supplied her with adjectives every few minutes. Christie sat next to Delilah whose sandwich she was eating. For the first time that semester she had people to sit with.

She sat with her head on Delilah's shoulder watching everyone. The air had a sombre feel. The whole grade was in mourning. The odd person had a black armband on. They received condolences from people who's never taken an interest in them before.

The whole group group stole furtive glances at Kip's seat. Christie hoped he would rock up, take his seat and say something derogatory. They all missed him to some degree. Their wistful thinking distracted them from the constant niggling though, there was a murderer on the loose.

As usual Tegan stood waiting for Christie as she came out of class. "Do you mind if we stop at the chemist my insulin supply is running low. I thought I bought some last month," Tegan said.

Christie shrugged and let her friend lead the way.

"I have a script for Actrapid under Baxter," Tegan said, handing over her Medicare card.

"I'm sorry about your friend," the pharmacist said. "I remember Kit. He used to run around and pull all the aspirin off the shelf as a kid. He was never a happy boy."

Neither of the girls corrected her mispronunciation. It was the 32nd time Christie had heard Kip's name said as Kit.

The pharmacist made small talk until the script was fulfilled. Once it was bagged and given to Tegan she bolted to the counter to pay. Christie followed her, dragging her feet behind her.

"Dear please take it. You've had a rough week," the assistant said.

"I'm more than happy to pay," Tegan said, taking twenty dollars out of her wallet.

"Sweetheart it's no bother," the woman said.

"Look...(Tegan checked her name tag) Sally. I don't need exceptions. I'm getting that from everyone else. Please take my money," Tegan said.

"I'm sorry dear. Here take a packet of jellybeans in case you have a hypo," she said.

Christie put her hand on Tegan's arm. Tegan handed twenty dollars over and received the change without protesting about the jellybeans.

Christie took Tegan's arm as they went into the supermarket. Tegan ripped a loaf of bread off the shelf and made her way to the self-serve checkout. She paid and grabbed the loaf, not bothering to bag it and waited for Christie to catch up.

"We're going to the park, aren't we?" Christie said.

"Yes," said Tegan shortly. "Don't tell my sister she would be insanely jealous."

"We can go get her," Christie offered.

"I don't want to deal with a six year old right now."

"Have you ever thought how cute it would be if your little sister and Wes' little brother got together?"

"Yes, Wes and I have been planning it since I found out he had a little brother."

They walked in silence to the local park. Christie counted the cracks in the pathway. Tegan waited for Christie to complete her counting before they could cut through the grass. They sat at a bench opposite the duck pond.

Tegan opened the bag of bread and handed some to Christie. Christie ripped a piece and threw it to the ducks. She counted how many pieces she ripped as she threw them to the ducks. Even though she read an article detailing how bread was bad for ducks she kept throwing it. It was relaxing, therapeutic even.

"Tegan, is it bad that I feel relieved you know...that Kip's dead?" she asked.

"I don't think so. The guy tortured for the worse part of two years. It's awful he died but he was a dickhead while he was alive."

"Does it bother you that a murderer is on the loose?"

"Of course."

The girls sat there watching the ducks until Christie broke the silence.

"Kip was murdered by someone in the changeroom with him and they struck him from the side. That's where the blood stemmed from."

Tegan held up and hand to stop Christie as she dropped down to the grass and leant her head against the seat. Christie stopped and dropped down next to her and took her another slice of bread. If only things were as quick and painless like the movies, Christie thought, with a sigh.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Song up the top is Boys In Town by Divinyls (who I personally reckon were the best thing to come out of 1980's Australia. Also a great feminist band) which Christie loves and also quotes in this chapter. I seem to have some strange writer's quirk where I need to know all my characters favourite bands. If you liked the chapter please vote and comment, it means the world to me. The fact that this story already has 250+ reads is astounding. Thank you :)