I liked the colours. Metallic purple, brilliant scarlet, green as deep as my eyes, blue as clear as hers. She was fascinated by the principle. She wouldn't have really cared if they were all dishwater brown, just as long as they were as big and round as possible. For whatever reasons, we loved them, and almost made ourselves sick blowing up five packets of them. Not the measly packets of fifty, either. These were packets of one hundred and twenty - that's six hundred balloons, enough to fill a whole room. We were exhausted, and lay there, completely deflated, in our castle full of colourful trapped air. I can't help but laugh every time I look at that photo, and God knows I need to laugh, to remember Byron the way she was.

I remember her telling me once about her secret in life. Byron believed will power was the key to success. If you can control your will power, you can do anything in life. She said it was like a balloon, the more you fill it with air the more beautiful it is, and the better it stays light and floating. The more will power you have, the more you will achieve. It's simple, she said. I didn't care, as long as it worked for her, and it seemed to be working just fine.

Byron and I will always be connected to each other. We can't help it, it is just the way we were made. We are - were - like a jigsaw puzzle. We'd grown up around each other, to fit around each other, two perfect complementary shapes. All the kids in primary school were jealous of us, and I was so proud to be her best friend. Byron always loved being different, and she did all that she could to make herself glisten in a crowd. It was as if she had this light inside her which always radiated warmth and friendliness, and like moths to lamplight we assembled around her. No one knew her as I did, though, as we knew each other inside out - we could probably have reassembled each other, if we had fallen apart!

She was also very beautiful. I was always an attractive child, but Byron was beautiful. Her eyes were pools of serenity, the clearest blue, which were wide and honest, and capable of mesmerising the entire population by the time she reached twelve. Her smile was astounding, dazzling, and could have earned a toothpaste company millions. There was nothing artificial about her, she just looked very healthy and happy and had a particularly striking face, although she never saw herself as anything remarkable. I guess that is why I couldn't understand why Byron didn't have guys knocking down her door. By Year 11 I was onto my third serious boyfriend and Byron was yet to experience her first kiss. She didn't say she cared, but I knew it upset her. I think they were all a bit afraid, thought she was too good for them, a beautiful balloon with no string, unable to be held.

I don't really know what started the disintegration, or when I first noticed it. I remember a day when Byron came to school in a particularly bad mood. She was more irritable than I had ever seen her before, as if something had burst inside her. I left her alone, thinking she was just having a bad day, but the bad days kept on coming. Our other friends started remarking about how depressed Byron had been lately. I tried talking to her about it but she couldn't put the hopelessness and despair she was feeling into words and just got angry. It was like a fog was descending over her, suffocating her, choking her until she fell, as graceful as a balloon, to the ground.

It was after her second fainting fit that I took Byron to the school Health centre. The nurse asked Byron if she had eaten that day. Byron shook her head, saying she hadn't had time, and walked out the door promising to buy something at the canteen with the money the nurse had provided.

Byron started cutting herself off from our circle of friends, burying herself in her schoolwork, determined to do well, the best, in Year 12. For all the time she spent at home doing homework and not coming out with us, she didn't seem to be getting very far. She didn't hand in her assignments on time, couldn't concentrate, and was always complaining of headaches. She never accepted any help I offered her, only got angry because I didn't think she could look after herself. I was worried, but couldn't do anything, as I would only have been burned by the raging fire that seemed to be consuming her.

And then she collapsed. She had finally given in to my persuasion and had come into town with me. We walked around for about half an hour before she started getting dehydrated. We were about to get a drink and sit down when she collapsed. Her face was as cold as the slate she had landed on, her listless cobweb of hair a halo around her head. I felt as if my heart was being wrenched and twisted out of my chest as I watched the ambulance take Byron to hospital.

She was lying there, like a wilted flower, and I looked at her, searching for what was tormenting her, and really saw her face for the first time in months. Byron's eyes were sunken, no longer alive and dancing. Her skin wasn't healthy and glowing like I remember it, but the yellow of a jaundiced baby, and it was covered in a soft, downy peach fluff. I held her hand, worried her skeletal fingers might snap like dry twigs at any moment. Why hadn't I noticed how much weight she had lost, why didn't I see her fading away? I asked myself the questions quietly, casting a scathing glance at the deflated pile of clothing the nurse had removed, layer by layer, from Byron's diminished frame before laying her down in the bed. She was barely a shadow against the starched white of the sheets, and as she slept, tossing and shivering as if she was possessed, I saw what my beautiful friend had reduced herself to.

She had forgotten it is easier to burst a balloon that is full of air, than one that is slightly deflated.

Beth Christian (16)

FEBRUARY 10, 1996

An application form was sent home for those interested in the Year 8 scholarships at Perth College. I'd asked Mum about it when it had appeared in the school newsletter.

Mum wasn't too sure if I should be involved because she was keen for me to go to Iona, and didn't want to put any pressure on me unnecessarily to prove myself. Eventually I persuaded her to have a form mailed to us, and so enrolled in the scholarship.

FEBRUARY 22 1996

In the newspaper today there was an article on Year 8 scholarships at St Hilda's. Mum said that since there were no entry fees, I might as well do that exam as well. Most scholarships are run by the board of education, but the St Hilda's one is run by the school itself. So instead of doing one scholarship and having the results sent to all the schools I enrolled in, I had to sit two.

MARCH 28 1996

It is Thursday evening and I've just been over the practice test for about the third time tonight. I'm not really nervous about the scholarship tomorrow because I'm just doing it for fun, but I know I will be when I get there. After I've done my homework I'm going to bed because I think I need an early night!

MARCH 29 1996

Well scholarship are over for me this year - except for the one tomorrow. I've had a hard Friday and tomorrow will be just as bad. I think I'll stay at home and relax on Sunday.

I think I went fairly okay in the scholarship but I left several questions from each test unanswered. Well most people would have, considering that there were about 72 questions to do in 45 minutes.

My best friend from Perth College was there and like me also did the music scholarship. After the exams we had lunch with the Year 7s at St Hilda's then went on a tour of the school. Earlier that morning Mum went on a similar tour and was thrilled to hear that St Hilda was the patron saint of educated young women.

I'm not as nervous about the scholarship at Perth College because lots of my friends will be there and I've had a taste of what the tests are like.

The only thing I'm worried about is that I might be tired out from the scholarship at St Hilda's and might not perform well. I don't like the idea of going to Iona so I really want to get a scholarship.

MARCH 30 1996

The Perth College scholarship was easy. Well, compared to the St Hilda's one, that is. Mum said the St Hilda's scholarship was more like an IQ test and was also designed to find potential rather than just how you go on the day of the test.

I think I did okay on the test and I only left two questions unanswered. Well now I'll just have to wait and see. There are lots of really smart people at St Hilda's, almost geniuses in fact, so I'm pretty sure I won't get that scholarship, but I may be in the running for the Perth College one. You never know.

APRIL 4 1996

Surely the results should be here by now. Maybe I haven't got a scholarship. Then again no one at school has been talking about them. I asked Dad about it and he said that scholarship results are usually in after about two weeks. I hope he is right.

APRIL 22 1996

When I came home from school today Mum told me the most exciting news. I was on the short-list for the scholarship at St Hilda's and I had to go in for an interview on Friday at 2:45. I'm so excited I can hardly bear it. A scholarship at St Hilda's! I hope I get it. Dad has told me not to get my hopes up because there were 14 people chosen for an interview - out of about 250 - but he says I should be very proud of how I've done so far.

I rang my best friend who also did a scholarship at both schools and she is really excited for me. She has been asked to come in for an interview at the other school she enrolled at, Penross. She might have won a part-music scholarship there.

MAY 10 1996

The interview went well, I think. It went for about 15 minutes and there were lots of questions about my favourite subjects, my hobbies and my ambitions. I was interviewed by the principal and two staff members. I thought I would be really nervous but they made me feel more 'at home' than I thought they would. I imagined almost sergeant-like teachers pacing back and forth, drilling me with questions. After the interview the principal congratulated me on getting so far even if I didn't win a scholarship. She said she would ring on Monday or Tuesday if I had, though.

I hope the phone rings.

MAY 11 1996

We went Mother's Day shopping today because it's Mother's Day tomorrow. Just me, dad and my sister of course. Not Mum. When we got home Mum looked like she was about to burst with excitement. As soon as we came through the door she said, "Jordan, Mrs Jones the principal of St Hilda's just rang. You've won a full scholarship, all fees paid for five years. Dad, Mum and my sister were all really excited, but I wasn't. Not really. I just thought, "Oh nice, I've won a scholarship." I think I had set myself such a high standard that I expected myself to win one even though it was highly unlikely.

Mum asked me if I was excited and I said yes, but it hadn't really sunk in yet about me winning the scholarship.

As you know it was obviously Saturday because Mother's Day is always on a Sunday so the principal had rung earlier than she had said. Mum called the scholarship her early Mother's Day present even though it was really my scholarship. Everyone in my family is very proud of me.

MAY 13 1996

This afternoon Mrs White from Perth College phoned. They had agreed to match St Hilda's offer and give me a full-fees scholarship which they did very rarely. I really want to go to St Hilda's because I'd like a change of schools. I also really want to stay here and be with people I know and I just live down the road so it's really easy to get to school. I just don't know. This choice will probably influence my future and my career.

Now I have to make a decision.

Jordan Amor-Robertson (11)

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