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The deep green pool of the Salinas river...

Oh for fuck's sake. Why have we come back here? What the hell is the point of going over it again? So that we can watch the fat kid that no-one likes take apart Steinbeck's vision with a claw hammer and have a sneaky giggle at his moobs? Oh yeah, Miss Waverley, very mature. Very snide. Very you.

You know how much I despise you, and you don't seem to care. We all despise you. You are a godawful teacher, heaven knows how you're still in the job. Must have some dirt on the Head, or at least that's what Jodie reckons. Jodie's my friend. She's good at people and wants to be a scientist. If you saw your pupils the way you saw people, you'd hate her just as much as she hates you. I've got a different reason, though. Have since Year 8.

Jodie told me about these studies she's been researching for a project. Apparently, shampoo companies who put oestrogen in their products are causing puberty in girls who haven't even hit double digits yet. I wasn't one of them, but I started filling out in the summer before and by September was, with some maternal assistance that I hadn't asked for, ready to attract attention.

My mother believes in playground romances. Snogging behind the bikesheds, that sort of thing. Watching the star of the football team (no rugby players for her daughter, says she, and apparently I'll understand why when I'm older, as if I haven't worked it out in detail already) scoring with pride because he's yours. And then you settle down with him and he goes to work in a nice office and you stay together forever. It's about as believable as Tracy Beaker really being a sensitive Goth girl with a penchant for Stravinsky, and about as likely to happen, worse luck.

I have no idea why I'm telling you this. You already know. You're me. But since you're here and I'm sick of listening to that useless fat cretin droning out Steinbeck in tones as grey and interesting as a depressed accountant, I might as well tell you about my friend Jodie.

Jodie has always been there, ever since my first day of primary school. She was friendly and kind, and she had glasses and people teased her for it. Still do now, come to think of it. We've always been close, and recently she and I've been getting even closer. You're me, so you know damn well how you can't explain how it is that she makes you feel on top of the world when you're with her, but you feel it anyway. Especially when we're in bed together.

Yes, me, we're a couple, and no, Mother would not approve. Tough shit.

She's my lover and my best friend. She and I aren't out at school because we like being able to go into the toilets without having our heads flushed down them. She's beautiful, in that science-geek excitable way that just screams 'kiss me' directly at my libido. And there are things that I can't tell her.

You know about them, obviously. You know why Waverley gives me so many detentions. You know why she does what she does, and you know what she threatens to do if the authorities get involved. You know why I cannot tell Jodie about what that teacher does, where she touches me --

"Lea Drake, at least do Mr. Black the decency of pretending to listen. I believe a detention is in order. My office. Tomorrow night."

I feel Jodie squeeze my hand under the table. Later on that day, I hear her tell me that it'll be OK. As long as we both keep secrets from her, you and me - well, me and me, but you know what I mean - it won't be. It can't be. Still later, once I've got home, I see that my mother has prepared me a pretty dress to wear, and for pretty do feel free to read slutty. It's the May Ball in a couple of months, and she says it'll be the last time to have a party and dance with boys in the best days of your life. Best days of my life?

The rest of it must be gonna suck.