‘They say you can’t grow tits and that’s why you always wear your coat. And that you never wash it. We can smell cow.’ Belle used her fountain pen to make a full stop after the title on her page. I wanted to be that blue dot for a moment. And then for there to be nothing else after me. No lists, thoughts or longings. Just nothing at all. Belle looked at me expectantly. ‘You’re just like Anne Frank. You’re in hiding.’ I pushed my pencil into the grinder of my pencil sharpener that I’d got out of my bag, and turned it until there was a very sharp point. I let it break twice.
