I was grabbed from behind, a hand being clapped over my mouth before I could even scream. I struggled to get free but it was no use.

‘Well, Chambers, I see it’s true that you’ve gone all potty. Hey, that’s funny–potty Chambers, or p’raps it should be Chamber potty!’ He gave out a guffaw of mocking laughter. I recognised the voice instantly as belonging to the bullying oaf, Quinn, and I burst into tears. ‘My mate, Kev Ball, ’phoned and told me you were pretending to be a girlie an’ ’ad got him grounded f’ra month, an’ ’e also said you were gonna to meet his stoopid sister at Angela Williamson’s house s’afternoon.’ Suddenly I became very aware that some other person–I presumed a boy–had put a hand up my skirt and his fingers were exploring my body through the thin cotton material of my knickers. Thank goodness I was wearing a sanitary pad––!

I went into the last vacant cubicle, closed the door, but discovered that the bolt was missing. ‘Bum!’ I thought, ‘Oh well, we’re all girls here,’ and with my thumbs hooked in the waistband, eased my knickers down to my knees before sitting “on the throne”.

I looked down at myself and discovered to my horror that, once again, I had a PENIS!

My mother found the article in The Independent’s archive on the internet.

Totally Insane.
by Angharad

“That is, like, totally insane,” I said when Brian made his proposal, “Like I’m gonna do that, like I’m totally crazy?”

“Look, little bruv, if you don’t I am, like, cat food.”

“Why can’t you get Karen’s sister to do it?”

“She wouldn’t be able to get into the lockers.”

“Why me?” I asked almost rhetorically, I knew why.

“’Cos you’re the best, little bruv,” he said slapping me on the shoulder.

“How come, I’m like, only the best when you, like, want something?”

Charlotte’s Tale.
by Angharad.
Part 15.

We got home and were both still buzzing. How could singing a few songs with some old bloke have such an affect on me? His energy was amazing and it seemed to build as he went on, as if he’d absorbed it from the audience.

“How different from us.” *
By Angharad.

Mollie Hawthorne, with an ‘e’ was fourteen today. She was having a party in the evening and she was looking forward to it with an anticipation she had never thought she’d feel again.

She bustled about the school with impatience, too excited to sit still for long let alone concentrate on boring chemistry or history. At fourteen what is history, something for old men to talk about? Mollie also had some history, although it was more recent than anything she was taught in school and more painful than anything before or since.

I closed the door after waving goodbye to Sue and Judy and returned to the dining room where I had been doing my prep. Mummy had laid a cheerful checked cloth on the table so all I had to do was put out place mats and lay out the cutlery. Auntie G kept the "dining-room cutlery"–as she called it–in one of the drawers of the Welsh dresser, so I went straight to it and opened the drawer, and sure enough, there were knives, forks and spoons for all occasions–many of them strange to me–but I was able to select what I thought was needed and laid up two places.