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she was just a small hump at the end of the bed. She could hardly breathe.
    “Running away won’t help.” This was her father. “Why don’t you tell us what the problem is?”
    “I’ve told you,” came the muffled reply. “I hate school.”
    “But why?”
    Why? Because nobody understands. Because I’m lonely. Because I’m different. Because everything I do leads to trouble.
The answers drummed in her head, but Laura didn’t reply.
    “I’m going to make some coffee,” said her father. “Then we can talk.”
    Laura heard her parents leave the room and came up for air.
    When they returned, her father was carrying Samson. “Here’s a bit of furry comfort I found skulking around the kitchen.”
    Laura gave a watery smile and reached for the cat, burying her face in his fur.
    “Now, how are you feeling sick?” asked her mother. “Is it your head or your stomach?”
    “It’s . . . everything.”
    Her mother felt the part of her forehead not covered by Samson’s fur. “You don’t feel hot,” she said.
    “Let me feel.” Her father smiled down at her as he, too, felt her forehead. “Ah, you’re right. She doesn’t feel hot — she feels miserable. That’s my diagnosis. Misery. Am I right?”
    “Maybe,” muttered Laura.
    “So the question is, what are we going to do about it?”
    “Should we go up to the school to discuss it with your teachers?” suggested her mother.
    Laura sat up immediately, almost dropping Samson in horror. “No!”
    “But, honey bear, if there is a problem, we need to sort it out.”
    “You can’t sort out hating school, except by not going,” shouted Laura. All the same, she climbed out of bed. The thought of her parents going to the school was too dreadful to contemplate. They would understand about her tearing up the paper, and they would try to explain it to Miss Grisham, but this would not resolve the problem. Her parents could not resolve the problem because
they
were the problem, and she couldn’t tell them that. Despite everything, she didn’t want them to change; she loved them as they were.As she headed for the bathroom, she cried tears of frustration. Everything was too complicated — it was the world she wanted to change, and it wouldn’t.
    It had been strange arriving home without her schoolbag; it was even stranger walking to school without it. All the way she imagined what people would be saying about her, and by the time she reached the gate, her stomach was in knots. Crossing the courtyard was torture. She felt as though everyone was staring at her, as though everyone was talking about her.
    She soon found out that she was right; they were. It had not taken long for news about the confrontation with Miss Grisham to begin circulating. Almost everyone in Year Eight had heard some version of it, and rumors were spreading like wildfire. As soon as she entered the locker room, a group of girls pounced on her.
    “What was in the note?”
    “Was it a love letter?”
    Laughter.
    “Who was it from?”
    “Was it something rude?”
    More laughter.
    “Come on, tell us. We promise not to tell.”
    Laura brushed past them and headed for the classroom. Her heart plunging, she saw Kylie and Maddy hovering by the door, waiting for her.
    “What was on the paper, Laura?” said Kylie, rushing up. “It must have been really important.”
    “No, it wasn’t. It was nothing.” Laura struggled to keep her voice steady.
    “You wouldn’t have torn it up if it was nothing,” said Maddy.
    “We’ll find out anyway, you know.” Kylie pushed her face uncomfortably close to Laura’s. “I told you I’d make a good detective. You may as well just tell us.”
    Fortunately, Mr. Parker arrived at that moment. “Move away,” he said, flapping papers at them. “You should be in your seats.”
    Laura ducked past Kylie and sat down. She hoped the worst was now over. She worked away in class, trying to ignore the whispering around her, and slipped off to the library