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study philosophy. He likes fried chicken because last year he spent a month in America somewhere and he ate lots of fried chicken. He wants to go traveling for longer next time: to South America and to Bali. When he said Bali, I thought about what had happened there and I froze a little, but he carried on speaking, so he can’t have noticed. Um, so, he’s from Iran. Well, he’s not, his dad is, and his mum’s from near me in Islington. And I wanted to ask if his parents were separated or together, and what Iran was like and if he’d been, and if his dad was Muslim, even though it makes no difference if he is because why would it? And I was thinking all these things, and I must have gone quiet because Dan said, “You’re really pretty when you’re thinking.”
    I just about fell off the sofa. It was like everything in the room stopped moving. All I could feel was my heart beating like a stuck needle in the groove of one of Mum’s old records.
    Abigail staggered in and sat on the arm of the sofa and wobbled to get her balance. She leaned over and said, slurring, “Dan, I see you’ve met my best friend, Sophie.”
    I crossed my arms and half turned away from her. Iwanted her to leave and stop flicking her hair and smiling at Dan. But he didn’t really look at her. Instead he said, “So that’s your name.” Our eyes connected, and this shiver went ALL THROUGH ME.
    Abi said, “I need to borrow her for a moment; is that okay?” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the other room.
    “What’s wrong?” I said. And then, “You’re so drunk,” which makes it sound like I was being mean, but I was just surprised. Abi hates getting drunk because of her mum.
    “I feel really sick, Soph.” She held her hand to her lips and said through her fingers, “Does vodka have loads of calories in it?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “I’m going to be sick.”
    “What do you want me to do?” I said.
    “I don’t want anyone to know.”
    I looked around at the older guys and everyone smoking and dancing. I thought how Abigail would feel being sick with all those people in her house. I took her to the bathroom and held her damp curls back while she threw up. The acid smell in the tiny space was nauseating, but when she was done, I stayed, helping her wipe her face and getting her some mouthwash.
    By the time we got back downstairs, the party was loud with chatter and music. I looked for Dan, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. I was tired and sad, and when I get like thatI don’t want to be around anyone. I called a cab and it took ages for it to arrive. The driver overcharged me because he said I’d kept him waiting, which wasn’t true, but I didn’t have the strength to argue.
    SUNDAY, JANUARY 15 TH
    Mum and I circled each other like cats today. It’s almost as if she doesn’t realize I’ve been back at school forever already. She kept asking if I have everything I need for Monday. I don’t have anything I need, but I can’t talk to her about that.
     
    She just came in and sat on the end of my bed. Her eyes were empty of light: flat and sad. I didn’t say anything. She didn’t say anything, either, and just as suddenly as she’d come in, she left.
    I got out of bed and followed her. She went into her office, shutting the door with a click. I listened to her crying for a while. I didn’t want to go in there with all the lost things in her collection. My hands started shaking. I returned to my room and put the TV on loud enough to stop the thoughts in my mind going around and around like frenzied dancers.
     
    I wish that I could fall asleep and make my brain rest. I’ve been lying awake for the last two hours. Mum’s STILL inher room with her collection, and I don’t want to go in there. It gives me the creepiest feeling even going past the door. Why is that collection so important to her? And what does it mean that she collects things that other people have lost? It’s strange how in a home there are these