"WHY, why did you bring me up to be so nice?" Her tone was strangely even, her voice soft and unwavering and her eyes never left mine until the stifled sob at the end became an avalanche of tears.

"What on earth do you mean? What's wrong with being nice? Don't you want to be nice? Would you prefer to be mean and selfish? Don't cry, please. Tell me what's wrong. Of course you're nice."

The parenting course hadn't catered for this particular problem. My knee jerk reaction created instant animosity on both sides, mine and my 12 year old daughter. This was her first confidence crisis.

"Nobody wants to be friends with me. They said I'm too nice and polite. And I like school and our teacher. They said I even like my little brother.

"I'm sure they didn't mean it. Maybe they were having a bad day.

"No they weren't. Yes they did."

Quieter now, her tear stained, red eyed pixie face was strangely composed. "I thought they were my three best friends. They had a meeting at the weekend and decided to tell me that I wasn't to hang on anymore."

"Look love, I know it happens. And it hurts. But I promise, it's not the end of the world. You'll have other friends. Forget about them, they're mean, horrible, not worth being friends with." Remember the parenting course. "You'll always have me."

She threw my words back at me, shouting,

"I don't want you. Oh, yes I do, I do, but I want them to be my friends. Everyone likes them. They go everywhere. They tease me because I'm not allowed into town on Saturday. Why doesn't anyone like me? Why do I have to be different?"

"Everyone is different. It's how you are on the inside that matters not what you seem like to other people."

"YES IT is. It's how other people see you. I know that. I just don't know how to change." She looked at me long and hard. "Things are different now, Mum. Nobody wants to be nice."

She slept the sleep of the exhausted. For me a night of tossing and turning, drifting in and out of sleep. It hurt so much I couldn't believe it. I alternated between anger and sheer despair.

Who did the little so and sos think they were? Should I give them an earful after school tomorrow? Should I call their parents? She's got to make her own way no, I thought. I can't protect her forever. I'm not doing her any favours. But she's right, it doesn't get you anywhere to be nice. She'll end up in therapy.

No, no, she'll find strength in herself, to be herself. Nice or otherwise... She'll be all alone at break time, willing away every minute. I'll wring their little necks.

"Mum, are you awake?"

"Yes, hop in here."

"Maybe if I had a sleepover . . ."

"Yes, great, we'll work on them, you and me . . .