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Chapters (67)
  1. Big Boned
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. One Month Later
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. About the Author
  62. Copyright
  63. About the Publisher
  64. Backad 1
  65. Backad 2
  66. Backad 3
  67. Backad 4

“Stop! Just stop.” I looked at her, tears in my eyes.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Zac broke free of my mom and rushed to the corner of the room, where he flung himself down.

My mother looked at Zac and then shook her head. Her eyes moved back to me, but she wasn’t really looking at me. Not really. She seemed to look through me. As if I was invisible. As if the things I said and did meant nothing. It broke my heart.

“Oh, and by the way. In case you care at all, that was Blackwell. I didn’t get in! Apparently, I don’t have a voice. But I’m pretty sure that suits you, since now I won’t be going off and I can stay here and help you around the house, grocery shop, look after Zac while you sell your fifty-million-rand home in bloody Constantia.”

“Bishopscourt,” my mother corrected.

“Sorry, what?”

“The house is in Bishopscourt.”

At that, I turned and left.

Things I Like about Myself by Lori Palmer

I’m a good sister.

I’m a real artist.

I, Lori Palmer, am officially good with parents!

34

I found myself driving around, again. I didn’t know what to do with myself. The feelings of total rejection, inadequacy, and anger mixed together to form some kind of uberemotion. One that was hard to describe, but inexplicably big. So big that it felt like it wrapped about my entire body like a heavy duvet on a cold night. Only it wasn’t cold. It was hot, and the feeling was starting to make me sweat.

I had no idea where I was going. I didn’t know this place, and everything here looked the same. Mountains. Sea. Big houses. Mountains. Sea. Big houses. The indistinguishable mountain looked the same from all sides, a generic blob of rocks, and suddenly, I hated it.

The road I was on snaked around the mountain, the sea to my right. I was sandwiched between two great big things and suddenly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe under the weight of them dwarfing me. Pressing down on me. Pushing. Squeezing and then . . . I’m underwater again.

An anchor tied to my foot. Swells pulling me under. Water in my mouth and nose, and I’m coughing and spluttering. I tried to take a deep breath, but it felt like my bra was strangling my rib cage like a python come alive. I reached out and blasted the air conditioning, pointing it into my face. I opened my mouth and let the cold air rush in. I tried to suck it into my lungs, I tried and tried and . . .

My name is Lori Palmer. I am seventeen years old. I live at the . . . the . . . “Shit!” I live at . . . I live in Clifton. My name is Lori Palmer. I am seventeen years old. I live in Clifton, Cape Town. My name is Lori . . .