If Georgia got told off when she was a toddler, she’d sulk by wrapping her arms around her head and pretending to be invisible. She wished she had the same power now. Every wary glance from a teacher. The Oh-my-god-it’s-her stares when she came out of a stall in the bathroom. Shouts in the corridor. Every single person in History class acting like a gun went off when she grated her chair.

‘I’m not starting the revolution – I just dropped my pencil case,’ she told them.

Maya saw the strain on Georgia at morning break. Instead of going to the canteen with Rolf and his loud mates, they sat under a slatted staircase, sharing a Yorkie bar.

‘I honestly don’t care what happens,’ Georgia said. ‘I want this over, so I can go back to being boring.’

‘Or become a celebrity model …’ Maya noted.

‘Not in a million,’ Georgia said, slowly shaking her head.

Georgia watched the nervous approach of two year-seven boys, neither of whom had experienced the growth spurt their parents expected when they bought oversized uniforms at the start of the school year.

‘What?’ Maya grunted, making them more scared.

‘Just …’ the one with sticking-out ears began. ‘We wondered if you knew how long the demonstration will last?’

Maya smirked. ‘You guys want to go? What are you, eight years old?’

Georgia was more sympathetic. ‘Guys, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re quite little. There might be scuffles with the cops and London’s a long way. You could get lost …’

Sticking-out-ears looked like he was about to burst into tears and Georgia put her head in her hands as the lads retreated up the stairs.

‘If some kid gets hit by a car, or abducted by paedos, I bet I’ll cop the blame,’ Georgia said sourly.

Maya gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll visit you in prison.’

Georgia laughed. ‘That’s what I want to hear …’

The pips went for third lesson, but as Maya and Georgia clambered out of their spot under the stairs, Miss Stockwell came over the school PA system.

‘Will all pupils please stand quietly and listen for special instructions. All lower-school pupils please go immediately to the main hall for a special assembly. Years ten and eleven, please go to the sports hall. Years twelve and thirteen to their common room.

‘I repeat, all pupils must now go to a special assembly. Pupils in lower-school …’

Georgia had more eyes on her than ever as they crossed the school to the sports hall. The senior staff had planned it so that all the scariest teachers were putting on a show, barking orders to line up, shut up and sit straight.

Nobody had put chairs out and the year elevens and twelves were rebelling against being made to sit cross-legged on the floor.