Malorie Blackman

You remind me of a boy I used to knowSame Smile, same easy, laid-back styleAnd man, could he kissBlew my mind the very first timeHis lips touched mine.You remind me You remind me of a boy I used to like.Same eyes, strong arms, same open mindAnd man, could he danceArms around me, lost in a tranceI'd hear his heartYou remind meI'm scared of youHow did you find me?Turn and walk away'Cause you remind meYou remind me of a boy I used to loveSame laughter and tears, shared through the years And man, how he feltMade my bones more than meltHe touched my soul.You remind meI'm scared of youHow did you find me?Turn and walk away'Cause you remind me

I wish... I wish he wasn't quite so ashamed of me. And if he could stop feeling so ashamed of himself, then maybe we might stand a chance.

He wrapped his arms around me. We were cuddled up like a couple of spoons in a cutlery drawer.

That just the way it is. Some things will never change. That's just the way it is. But don't you believe them.

When I was a teenager, reading for me was as normal, as unremarkable as eating or breathing. Reading gave flight to my imagination and strengthened my understanding of the world, the society I lived in, and myself. More importantly, reading was fun, a way to live more than one life as I immersed myself in each good book I read.

I think fan fiction is the way most writers start, and the same goes for music and design.

I remember, when I was at school, we would have a 10-minute storytelling session where we'd all sit on the floor cross-legged, and the teacher would read. It became something we all really looked forward to. That was part of the reason I grew to love stories.

I remember being in a history lesson and saying to my teacher, 'How come you never talk about black scientists and inventors and pioneers?' And she looked at me and said, 'Because there aren't any.'

The worst thing about being the laureate has been the attitude of a tiny minority of adults who haven't liked some of the things I'm supposed to have said and who have used it as an opportunity to be verbally abusive and nasty, but I haven't let it rule my world!

I mean you're cute, but not that cute. Would Rhea really risk life in a maximum security detention unit just so that she could press herself against your manly body?

So why did you want to kiss me?""We're friends aren't we?" Callum shrugged.I relaxed into a smile. "Of course we are.""And if you can't kiss your friends who can you kiss?" Callum smiled.

For once I didn't look away immediately. I forced myself to meet her contemptuous gaze. I allowed myself be swept away by it, to drown in it - the way I'd done so many times before. The way I would willingly do again. Because at least she was here to hate me. At least I had that. I watched my daughter conjure up the filthiest look in her vast arsenal before she turned away with complete disdain. I didn't mind that so much. It meant I could watch her, drink her in without her protest. Look at our daughter, Callum. Isn't she beautiful, so very beautiful? She laughs like me, but when she smiles... Oh Callum, when she smiles, it's picnics in Celebration Park and sunsets on our beach and our very first kiss all over again. When Callie Rose smiles at me, she lights up my life.When Callie Rose smiles at me.

The point is, you have family and friends who love you. You have a world out there just waiting for you to conquer it. You have a life that will be anything you make it. That's the point.

And round and round and round. Why couldn't I get past the letter? Like poison id had seeped into every image and every memory I kept of Callum, polluting them until I couldn't tell which was real and what was just wishful thinking any more. Until at last, I was forced to face the inescapable fact that, for whatever reason, Callum had written the letter.