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mom—although possibly, all I had to look forward to in that department was “The Great Auntie Elizabeth Gene,” but fingers crossed.
    “How about ice skating?” she reiterated.
    “We do that all the time!” I protested as Corey barged into the room for the fourth time that evening, baggy trousers hanging way below the waist and almost exposing the crack of his skinny bum, rolled up at the ankles and held in place with elastic bands. I’d seen the look on some guys down at the rec, but on Corey it just looked stoopid.
    “What are you two girls talking about, then?” he asked.
    “GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU CRETIN!” spat Carla as I took in the familiar scene of brother and sister mid-squabble. Corey was responsible for most rows, as he seemed to enjoy teasing his younger sister and behaving like the biggest idiot that ever lived. He also reeked of cigarettes.
    “Lo Bag?” he said for no particular reason, flashing a dimpled smile.
    “I said, get out of my room. I’m telling Mom!” said Carla, looking for something to chuck. These days, Carla and I were becoming more consumed in our own secrecy as Corey spent more time with “the boys.” And since reading The Manual, I’d felt miles older than the two of them anyway. Things were changing between us.
    Carla finally found one of her old teddies and launched it toward her brother.
    “Cow!” he spat, reaching for the door.
    That night, Carla and I swooned over a poster of Bobby Brown and practiced vogueing in front of the mirror, but not once did she ask me about The Manual.
    I slipped back next door and into my room as Mom lay on the couch cuddled against the Bingo Caller, whispering sweet nothings. I changed into my yellow pajamas decorated with pink dots and pulled The Manual from its secret hiding place under the bed. The one-eyed teddy stared at me, like he had something to say, and I started to wonder if I was getting too old to have him on my bed.
    You’re in secondary school now.
    A place where all the curly-haired kids want straight hair, the tubby kids dream of looking like beanpoles,and everyone is desperate to latch on to someone resembling a best friend.
    This is fine, but having a bunch of other friends is always a good idea. At least I thought so when I was at school. In the juniors I had three good friends—one was good at Math, one great at soccer, the other okay at English. This all helped considering Math and English were my least favorite subjects!
    When I got to secondary school, things were a little different. Just getting through the day without being called certain names was really important, and it didn’t hurt to be around a bunch of boys who were feared, but the rules remained the same. So, now, what was his name…? John or Johnny, I think? Now he was brilliant at both Math AND English. And there was Nick, who everyone was scared of (which obviously brought the name-calling down to a minimum). And then there was Charlie (secretly, my favorite best friend) who was basically good at…well, screwing around mainly.
    Look at it this way: some will be good at geography, others good for advice. Whatever their strengths, I’m sure they’ll make such a difference to your life. They’ll teach you loads—good and bad. Believe me on that one.
    But hey, perhaps there’s someone you already hang around with and share secrets with. (Carla, maybe? You always seemed so close.) Whoever it is, never let her go. Best friends are a bit special and a bit rare—like sand made out of gold—and when you find a good one, keep her. Treat her the way you like to be treated. And always be loyal.
    Admittedly, when you hit your teens, it may become difficult to keep up the loyalty bit as there’s always this urge to join cliques. To branch out and experiment with situations that may not include your original friends. And there’s nothing wrong with this (as long as it’s good stuff), just try not to abandon your best friend in the process—she’s the