'Gas and Air' by Judi Walsh

"God, can't you talk about anything else?"

I ignore her, mostly because what I'm telling her isn't true anyway. I concentrate on getting as high as I can. Kevin Ashley once told me you could swing all the way over if you got high enough. I doubt he was telling the truth either, but I try, just in case. I imagine the papers covering local girl in Guinness Book of Records for circular swinging. I smile and phones flash and everyone wants to know me.

"I wouldn't let him- it's disgusting."

I hate her and want to be near her all at the same time and it gives me an unsettled feeling. I don't know why she wants to be around me. It makes me suspicious, as if she's just waiting to trip me up. Just like when Abby Trago told me half the story about her party and all the princesses sniggered at the pig.

"Was it disgusting?"

I tell her all about it. I am very good at telling people what they want to hear. Really high now, I can see the gas bells over the back of the fence, standing proud against a flint sky. Each swipe of my feet in the murky puddle below sends me soaring a little bit more. And then. Going over the top means returning to the same place, and I don't want to be there anymore. My hair streams and my hands touch the clouds.

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