The Secret Diary of Summer Brookes, Age 13 and Three-Quarters
Dear Diary,
Well, here we are: a new year, and hopefully a new beginning.
New year is a strange time of year for me, because I always feel like crying. Is that weird? I feel like that’s probably weird. Just forget I said it. I’ll go back and change it later, if I can find some Tippex.
Anyway, I don’t really believe in New Year’s Resolutions, but I saw this thing on TV about how if you want things to happen in your life, you have to ‘manifest’ them, so I guess this is it. This is me manifesting. Here are the things I want to happen in my life:
1. Kiss Jamie Reynolds from next door.
2. Overcome fear of flying so I can get out of Margate and travel the world.
3. Sing somewhere other than in the shower. Become famous for this.
4. See Taylor Swift in concert.
5. Become cool. (This should maybe be number 1, seeing as everything else kind of depends on it?)
6. Maybe ride a motorcycle? That seems like something a cool girl might do?
7. Meet the love of my life.
8.Jump out of an airplane.Climb a mountain.
9. Some other stuff TBC. (That means ‘to be confirmed’, by the way.)
10. Just totally change my life, basically.
I ideally want to do all this by the end of the year, because, let’s face it, I’m not getting any younger here.
On the plus side, though, I think I can probably cross off number 7, because I already know Jamie Reynolds, so at least that’s one down, without even trying. Just 9 more to go!
Wish me luck…
Summer xoxo
I close the book slowly, then sit there silently in the dark, feeling like I’m going to cry.
My 13-year-old self would have had no problem telling Wise Old Crones — or anyone else who asked — exactly what she wanted to do with her life. She had it all planned out, in a 10-point list.
The thing is, though, she never actually did any of it.
Not one thing.
(Well, not unless by ‘some other stuff TBC’ she meant, ‘get a shit job in a call center, and still be single in my thirties’, and I just don’t think she did, somehow.)
All of a sudden, this feels like a tragedy of such epic proportions that it’s almost more than I can bear.
Why didn’t I do any of that stuff? How did I somehow go from being a wide-eyed teenager, whototallythought she was going to be famous one day, to a downtrodden call center worker, who hasn’t done the KPIs her boss is looking for yet, and who’s not even totally sure what they evenare?
No, seriously, how? How does that happen? How did life just get away from me like that? And, okay, I guess it was always unlikely that I’d one day be famous; but Jamie Reynolds? He wasright there, almost every day of my young life. And I didn’t even kiss him.
Why didn’t I kiss Jamie Reynolds, even once?
Everything I wanted was right there in front of me. It was within my reach. But I somehow managed to cunningly avoid actuallytouchingit, and now, just like the Fairy Godmother/Wise Old Crone said, it’s probably too late.
My downward spiral almost complete, I pick up my phone again, deciding to torture myself some more by seeing if I can track Jamie down and see what he’s up to these days.
