Lost for Words Read Online Free Page A

questions that never get asked, things that never get said. I want to tell Mum to stop spending all her time in that room. I want her to come out and talk to me, but I don’t know where we’d start.
    MONDAY, JANUARY 16 TH
    I came home after school, and Mum was in the living room wrestling with the Christmas tree, trying to take it down. The tree was covered with brown needles that fell all over the floor as soon as Mum touched it. The little dead needles looked completely flammable, and I could just imagine the whole tree and Mum going up in a violent puff of smoke and flames. She would scream and collapse to the floor, struggling to breathe. I closed my eyes for a moment to clear away the image. I leaned against the doorframe with my hands in my pockets and thought about helping her, but then I remembered how awful Christmas day was. Mum didn’t bother having turkey or anything—she doesn’t cook anymore—and neither of us had bought presents. Mum said she couldn’t imagine anything worse, so no presents. The stupid tree was only there because theHaywoods had brought it over.
    On Christmas day Mum and I sat in the living room and tried to think of things to say, neither of us able to say anything. I swear I could see Emily sitting on the other sofa making jokes and pulling faces, Mum laughing at her jokes. I screwed up my eyes and told my brain to stop.
    Because it never would have been like that. Even before, Mum didn’t laugh very often. She was always busy cleaning and tidying. If she ever sat down, her lips were squashed up tight as if she were trying to contain herself.
    Once, years ago, a couple came for dinner. Mum’s friends. Mum sat with her shoes off, kicked loose on the floor, her feet curled under her on the couch. She was drinking red wine, and her mouth got all purple. She gestured all about her, hands like birds, and she was laughing. She suddenly seemed like Emily: free and fun and happy. I bet when Mum was young, she was just like Emily. I think that’s why she always loved Emily more than me, because she was like Emily when she was young. But she’s not like that now. Not after years of looking after the two of us on her own, working full-time. Although she hasn’t gone back to work, even though I’ve been going to school since the end of the summer.
    I watched her yanking at the Christmas tree. Unable to bear it, I slipped out of the room and headed upstairs, where I put on really loud music.
    Even over the music, I heard her yelling, “Sophie,can’t you see I need some help down here?” I know it was a terrible thing to do, but I turned up the volume and ignored her.
    TUESDAY, JANUARY 17 TH
    School was long and boring. When I got home, Mum didn’t even come out for supper. The only time I saw her tonight, her face was totally haggard. Worn away by time.
    THURSDAY, JANUARY 19 TH
    We had this dance teacher come in specially today. He was the most crazy, intense guy on the planet. At only five foot three he was no taller than me. He wore cerise Lycra, and he was completely bald, which DID NOT go with the shiny outfit! He taught us this insane choreography. It started with two cartwheels, then a tombé and sootanue (or something), then a handstand from being on our knees, and finally hand gestures that he said were from sign language. It was all to this strange electronic music with beeps and whistles.
    The only person who could do it was the new girl, Rosa-Leigh. The rest of us were trying hard even to remember what came next, and Rosa-Leigh could do it practically perfectly. He complimented her constantly. I was going to tell her how great she was when we satfor registration after lunch, but she was writing, maybe a poem, so I didn’t.
    I wonder what it’d be like to write a poem. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
    TUESDAY, JANUARY 24 TH
    Emily went to my school before me. She was a star pupil, best of all at Art. I wish I’d never even chosen to do Art because the teacher, Mrs.