Finally I find the photo of me. They’ve photoshopped my eyes so they’re bigger than normal and green, instead of brown. They’ve removed my hair so it looks like I’m bald and written a silly caption under it.

I realize now I wasn’t being a bad friend at all. I wasn’t jealous about Matty, I was just being honest.

When I’m done I turn to Elle. ‘So?’ I say. My whole body feels like it’s made of electricity. ‘Do you still want to be his girlfriend after that?’

Elle goes beetroot red as everyone turns to look at her. She pauses for what seems like a million years, and then finally answers. ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Saff,’ she says, her voice cold. ‘It’s just a laugh.’

‘I’m not being dramatic.’ I snap, my voice ringing loud and clear. ‘You’re just being fake, and mean. Where’s the Elle that always makes up stupid puns? Where’s the Elle that sings songs with me in silly voices, or the one who didn’t care so much what everyone thought of her?’ While I’m talking Elle’s eyes flit left and right, and she goes redder and redder. She looks at me for a moment like she misses all that too, but then she glances at Abir and Matty, and says nothing.

I slide out of the booth without another word. Elle doesn’t even try to stop me.

As I reach the door I glance back at her. She catches my eye for a moment before turning to Matty again. It’s as if I was never there at all; the gap I left has already been filled.

Dad picks me up soon after and we go home. I head straight to my room, Lady bounding in after me.

I’m about to disappear into a game, to try to forget the world, but there’s a package on my bed. My hands shake as I pick it up. I pull out the flyer and find that it’s exactly as it appeared in the memory.

And, even though today’s been the worst, it’s been the best too. Not only can I unlock the next memory, but I finally know what it’s all leading to: a play! A play Mum performed with her friends.

Chapter 23

‘I’m Hana,’ a confident girl in a glittery red headscarf announces, shaking Aminah’s hand formally. I can’t help but giggle as she kisses her on both cheeks, like they’re grown-ups, even though she looks about our age. Her Arabic is much more pronounced than the others, whose accents have a slight American lilt to them.

The other girl, Ibtisam, introduces herself next, much more casually than her friend. ‘But you can call me Ib,’ she says, grinning at Aminah.

Hana waves a hand dismissively. ‘I prefer Ibtisam. It has more to it, don’t you think?’