this chapter is dedicated to proseablility for the amazing cover she made for me which is on the right<3 and also for her amazing support!
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AFTER
"You've been a lot nicer to me recently," Daisy comments on our fourth session together. "Something in the water?"
"Funny." I flop down on the bean bag beside her table and grab a cookie from the jar that she passes to me. Binge-eating has become my thing apparently but I'm sure Daisy's going to notice sooner or later. At least she won't rat to my parents. As far as I know, whatever deep and meaningful conversations we've had together have stayed between us and I hope she keeps it that way because I've begun to trust her. 'Course I'm never telling her that. Guidance counsellors get big-headed that way.
"I've noticed you've started hanging around other people again," Daisy says and thank heavens she doesn't have that bloody notebook with her. She's stopped writing notes down all the time. It drives me crazy knowing someone's writing all this stuff about me – assuming things about me like they know me.
"Creep," I flash back and she laughs.
"Shows good progress," she replies and she leans back on her chair and smiles, like she's immensely proud of me or something. I sneer.
"I could be hanging around the wrong crowd," I say. "I could be doing drugs right now for all you know."
Daisy raises an eyebrow delicately. "Pippa Harlington and drugs?" She chuckles. "Now that would be something."
"She's one of my students," Daisy explains when she sees my shocked expression. "A lovely girl."
The rest of our session passes away in Daisy trying to coax me into being more serious with my replies and me not giving a single shit. Still, it's fun. She knows I'm just trying to rile her up, trying to make her give up on me but that seems to be making her even more determined to push me out of my shell. Not that I need any pushing. I've made it very clear that I don't need this Let's-Talk-About-Feelings-While-Making-Daisy-Chains nonsense. I just don't see the point. What the hell am I supposed to talk about that she doesn't already know? That I'm sad my best friend is dead? That I'm going through what has to be the worst year of my life? It's pointless and it only makes my head hurt more.
And I need to save my energy for what really counts.
For the investigation, because Pippa fancies herself a detective and we're not creative enough to come up with a less corny name for it.
When it's lunch time I see Pippa running up to me, her thick hair flying behind her like an unruly lion's mane, and for one insane moment I wonder if she's solved the case all on her own. She's always been brilliant like that.
"Ready to start?" she asks breathlessly and I hide my disappointment with a small nod.
We've been going at it for two days now and we've even swapped numbers so we can text each other anytime we aren't at school. So far, we've done nothing but trace through all the conversations I've had with Adam leading upto his suicide. We've looked through our texts – something which I'd wildly protested against at first, to no avail – but we've found nothing, no tell tale signs. Adam was good at hiding his tracks well.
For what feels like the fiftieth time today, I recount to Pippa everything I know under our apple tree.
"He was normal," I tell her. "He never gave me one-word replies. Joked about as usual. Nothing was really off. He was going to after school football all the time as well. The weirdest thing he'd said to me was on the texts I'd shown you. I—I couldn't have known," I add defensively, just because I don't want Pippa to think I'm thick for not knowing my best friend was going through depression.
