Do Not Click Do Not Click Do Not Click
The Diary of Grace Henderson, Age 14.5
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By Kate Donovan

Sunday 19th April
Georgia’s party 6:30p.m
***
Tell me, dear diary, why Eugene Rimmel decided to disguise the painful, sharp rod of mascara with a horde of bristles? I was caught completely off guard, I had just finished applying a elegantly packaged mascara to my right eye, when the over-sized sceptre (I think that’s what you call it) ferociously stabbed me to within inches of my life…..okay, okay, I un-intentionally poked myself in my innocently waiting left eye. The extremities of pain barely subsiding, I caught sight of my bum wrapped up tightly in the mirror. Diary, I am ashamed to say my quite large size 6 bottom for a teen of my status, looks fat in a mini skirt. What am I meant to wear to Georgia’s party if the hottest fashion is just NOT hot on me?

11:30p.m
When will my peers grow up and decide how to appropriately behave at a distinguished gathering? Drinking at such a tender age is so vulgar. The amount of immature games played is enough to make me nauseated, though I did get quite a nice pash with a handsome guy in a tame game of spin the bottle.
Turns out that I was the only one wearing a dress; all the other girls were wearing mini skirts just as I suspected, and I was told countless times by almost everyone there that my bloodshot eye added quite a nice effect to the fact that almost everyone was drunk. I didn’t tell anyone that I poked myself in the eye with the mascara brush. I guess the repulsive comments about me being drunk saved me from the ultimate humiliation; not being able to properly apply make-up without injuring myself.
There was only one adult there, and she was leaving as I walked in. She asked me if I’d been eating enough lately. Hello!! Even as a size 6, couldn’t she see the build-up of cellulite on my thighs and hips? I think I can excuse her just this once though, because my dress didn’t really hug these parts of my body.
Bed for me; I’m beat.

3:30a.m Monday
I haven’t done my English assignment and it’s due today. I don’t care though, my beauty sleep is much more important, and besides, I already have enough intellectual competency to not have to bother with the trifles of such childish work.
***
Monday 20th April
Full moon

It amazes me, diary, how bothersome mothers can be. She asked me what I ate for dinner last night, and it ashamed me to say the truth; I confessed to a whole piece of cake covered in icing. Just think of how many calories that is! She went ballistic at me for no good reason, yelling phrases like, ‘you’re nearly anorexic!’ and ‘it’s basically suicide!’. Really! Parents should learn to control their emotions and speak calmly and with precision in order to get their message across, instead of waffling on about things that are neither here nor there. Of course, I made this clear to her, and she just yelled louder. She’ll get done under the charge of neighbourhood disturbance if she’s not careful!
Still tired from party last night. Forgot to pack lunch for school. Just as well, I shall have to burn off the fat gained last night; I swear my thighs doubled in the space of 24 hrs.
Why is it that the end of my day is always spoiled more than it already is by sport? I had to endure this afternoon playing in the world of sweating underarms and running makeup- otherwise known as Baseball. I even brought a note, but after it had come into contact with a cranky sports teacher and an imploring psychiatrist, it counted for nothing-I thought my impression of my mum’s signature was pretty good.
I hobbled home bearing a large bruise on my shin, and I fear a broken wrist, though at what I regret to call my home, I was merely shunted aside, expected to uphold my consciousness while my mother insisted on preparing a high-calorie snack! I shall not be treated in such a way, diary, and I proceeded to ask my mother and father (who had presently wandered into the room, looking like a disgruntled rhinoceros), which was more important; making me fat or attending to an inevitably life threatening situation? She practically burned me down with her eyes, so I quickly left the room. She and my overweight father started arguing, but I didn’t want to listen. I have a feeling this is something bad, though.

7p.m.
My parents have knocked on the door and called me downstairs. Are they too mentally damaged to see that the door is closed and has a “DO NOT DISTURB” sign on it for a reason!? What can my parents have to say that is more important than planning how to escape out of my prison cell to meet Georgia and her boyfriend at the movies? They seem to always interrupt my secretive plans……I’ll have to search for microphone bugs when I get back. You may be wondering diary, why I talk to myself. Never fear, it is because I am far too intellectually competent for my peers to understand me, that I am reduced to conversing with myself, NOT that I am supposedly showing the first sign of madness.

8p.m.
Those evil people! Those repugnant, repulsive, revolting, spiteful, stinking, ugly, unpleasant, unpropitious, vicious, vile, villainous, wicked excuses for parents! I went down to the kitchen and my mother started rambling on about something while my father stared absentmindedly out the window. I caught phrases like ‘getting thinner by the day’, and ‘this is our last option’. Of course, diary, you may have noticed by now that I am not dumb, and I realised at once that they were talking about me. I have been through this over and over again with them, and they don’t seem to realise the importance of a healthy lettuce salad per day + a couple of vitamen tablets. My father should really try it……he is starting to resemble a contestant from the “Biggest loser.” I was getting prepared to give my speech again, when my mother brang me back to reality with an unpleasant thud, using just the words, ‘We’re sending you to Camp Use-your-emotions-wisely, and there you will have extra visits to the camp psychiatrist,’ in the most foreboding tone you could ever anticipate. They didn’t even bother to sit me down; for all they know I could have fainted! No notice either! I leave in the morning!
Too revolted to write any more; till the morning.
14 hrs to camp.
***


Tuesday 21st April
Karen Foster’s b’day

My parents are trying to make it up to me for sending me to a camp full of all the poor, helpless rejections from their homes around the country, where I’ll be the only sane one. My mother packed my things, but forgot to add my hair dryer and straightener, makeup, half my wardrobe and razor. I stubbornly did not forgive her for her little mishap but I packed the things myself anyway, because they were too important to be trusted in the hands of a deceitful mother. I have scored one point back to me, diary, in my rebellious struggle not to end my life in a mental ward. I tried to keep from changing my thoughts as they carried me kicking and screaming into the bus. I am predicting that that won’t be the best strategy to convince them I’m sane, and plus they are strong, so that probably doesn’t help things.
I think Karen Foster should change her birthday. This gloomy day will be forever remembered as the start of the fight for independence, led by the now billionaire Grace Henderson. That has a certain ring to it.

Wednesday 22nd April
2 days, 21 hrs and 12 minutes until I leave!

I wonder if it is legal to sue people for physically dragging you to a place where you have no intention of going; I shall find out if it’s the last thing I do. This camp is in the dooms of despair, near the deepest pits of hell. They have 6 hours of sport per day! How much worse can you get? A lot worse. They even make you eat at regular intervals! It’s no wonder that I am getting fatter by the day.
In my dorm, I have 3 anorexic chicks! I really pity people like that; to feel the desperate need to make themselves thin to look pretty is just so sad! I put my arm around one of the girls, and I said softly that I was sure she would look pretty without endangering her health, and that starving yourself was so out of fashion, but, after all my efforts, she growled that she was not anorexic, but clearly I was. Really! I think she’s in a state of denial; maybe I should speak to someone about her.
Had to play soccer with all the psychopaths. Come on, a girl of my status, apart from being fat, having to wear a pair of shorts and kick a ball, (which made all the flab on my legs wobble like jelly.) Such injustice, what if someone sees? Of course, I refused at first, but they threatened me with such a huge serve of lunch that I played. Don’t worry diary; I will find a way to lose my fat and defeat the evil, mentally-retarded people who are forcing my life into misery.
While I was plotting my escape from the lunch line, I caught 2 of the girls muttering behind me and casting glances in my direction. I caught phrases like ‘so particular’ and ‘real snotty’. Yes, I really agree the camp leader is like that; yesterday, he practically forced a piece of toast down my throat.
I believe I have something in common with those girls. I vow to be nice to them, for I need their help in trying to find a way out of this madhouse.

Thursday 23rd April
1 day, 5 hrs and 53 minutes until I leave!

Had my first meeting with the psycho doctor today. How embarrassing!! I quite pointedly proved (I hope), that there was nothing wrong with me and demanded to know why I was forced into a loony camp. He simply stared at me and then started waffling on about how important it was to have correct eating habits, etc, etc. I appreciated the attempt at flattery, but I needed to know what was wrong with me, not what I was doing right. Eventually, I gave up and just stared out the window until the torture had ended, and then fled the room.
Tripped over my own feet in lacrosse today, and got whacked in the head by arrogant toerag by the name of Mark. He should learn to treat women of such high quality with more respect. What’s more, he called me a stick! A rude comment, indeed! I must say though, diary, my thighs do resemble tree trunks.

Friday 25th April
23 hrs until I leave!

Victory! I have found out a fool proof way of staying thin in this dungeon, which is seemingly against the motion! I will divulge my mastermind plan to you and you only diary. Consider yourself privileged!
1) Disappear to the bathroom under the pretence of going to the toilet.
2) Turn on the taps
3) Stick finger down throat to vomit up calories (it feels pretty good; you should try it sometime.)
4) Rinse mouth with mouthwash
5) Act like nothing happened.

It’s definitely up there with whoever invented corsets (I like the turning the taps on bit especially)! I’m quite smart actually; I wonder why they think something’s wrong with me.
Rang up parents today. Mum answered sounding upset and said she’d talk later. Not that I care, after all the trauma she’s put me through.

9.30p.m.
I cannot believe it! The supposed camp leader actually read through you, diary, and I was chucked into a room near the reception for no good reason whatsoever. I didn’t write anything of importance to them, and they decide to seclude me in such a way! It was all just personal stuff, not harming anyone at all! I shall find out the reason of such unceremonious behaviour, and demand a refund.



Brian Falkner Books