The It Girl by Katy Birchall

with genuine interest when Dad mentioned I had a school dance coming up.
    Not that she had been particularly impressed with my response of, “Yeah, I don’t have a date though. Might have to dance with a balloon again. Ha ha ha.” In fact, she hadn’t said anything at all.
    It was just clear that Marianne Montaine and I had very little in common. The only thing that we shared was outrage toward our irresponsible single parents.
    â€œI think that’s a great idea.” Dad nodded, looking at me. I knew he was trying to appeal to my forgiving side. I glared back at him.
    â€œWe can just . . . bond here,” I suggested, giving Marianne a helping hand with the situation.
    â€œI know!” Helena exclaimed, ignoring me completely. “Why don’t you show Anna your shoe collection? Marianne has the most wonderful shoe collection!”
    â€œDo I?” Marianne said in a strained voice.
    â€œAnna would love that!” my dad announced.
    â€œWould I?”
    â€œOff you go, while Nick and I clear the table.” Helena rose from her seat and picked up her dish.
    Marianne, without looking at me, stood up slowly and made her way out of the dining room. I reluctantly followed, two pairs of eyes following me, our parents happily witnessing their plan come into action.
    I stood awkwardly by Marianne’s bed as she stepped into her walk-in closet. I told myself to try to keep an open mind about what kind of future stepsister relationship we might have.
    â€œThese are my pride and joy I guess,” Marianne claimed, holding out a pair of black stilettos with the highest heel I have ever seen.
    My open mind closed again. How could she walk in them and not trip? Some of us have trouble avoiding that embarrassment in flat shoes.
    â€œThey’re . . . wonderful,” I said. Silence reigned. “Um, do you . . . do you always wear heels on your feet?”
    â€œYes. Most of the time. And definitely on my feet.” Marianne looked desperate and then went back to studying her shoe collection a little too intensely. I looked around the room for inspiration.
    â€œPretty cool that your mom’s an actress,” I began. “You must have seen loads of movies growing up.”
    â€œNot really.” She shrugged, looking relieved that I had said something that another normal human being might come out with. “I didn’t enjoy movies that much.”
    I blinked at her. She was reaching up for a handbag on her top shelf. “Wait a second.” I couldn’t help myself. “You don’t enjoy watching movies?”
    â€œSometimes, I guess.”
    â€œI mean, your mom is in some classics,” I said, still in shock by this discovery.
    â€œYes, I guess so.” She nodded. “It’s just not my thing.”
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œWell, my dad wasn’t around. My mom was always away filming. If I stayed in and watched a film, I felt pretty lonely. And who wants that?”
    â€œUm, yeah. No one .” I looked at the floor.
    â€œGoing out and talking to people, going to events and parties, made me feel less . . . ,” Marianne said animatedly, warming up to what she clearly thought might be our first normal conversation and oblivious to the fact she’d just demoted me back to the ranks of complete loser. “Well, you know.”
    â€œOh yeah,” I said, not knowing anything about celebrity parties at all. “I totally know.”
    She looked at me in disbelief.
    â€œWell, I know about the lonely bit anyway. Being an only child as well.”
    Marianne nodded. We sat in silence for a moment, both lost in thought.
    â€œWell,” I said eventually, relieved we’d found the tiniest sliver of common ground. “That was a nice moment.”
    â€œUm, right. So, this all seems a bit rushed. Your dad and my mom.”
    â€œYes. I know. At least you don’t have to get