Chapters (88)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dear Reader …
- Also by Robert Muchamore
- PART ONE
- Walter J Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- PART TWO
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART THREE
- Walter J. Freeman Adolescent Mental Health Unit – East Grinstead, UK
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- PART FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- EPILOGUE
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- Have you read KILLER T?
- 1 SLASHED RUBBER
- 2 NOT HARRY POTTER
Georgia dropped her phone into her blazer pocket as Mr Rothstein came into view. He was in his twenties. He’d taught Georgia art in years seven and eight, and while Georgia never saw the attraction, half the girls in her class crushed on him.
‘Didn’t see a thing,’ Mr Rothstein said with a slight whiff of cigarettes as he got close.
Georgia laughed awkwardly.
‘I smiled when I saw your picture on the train to work,’ Mr Rothstein continued. ‘I attended a protest in Golders Green last night, but it was tepid. Are you going to the big march to Parliament tomorrow?’
‘I’ve not heard about that,’ Georgia said. ‘I’m probably grounded till I’m eighteen.’
Mr Rothstein laughed and nodded. ‘Better not get yourself into trouble, eh? And switch that phone off.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Georgia said, using her obedient old-Georgia voice.
Mr Rothstein raised his right hand and they did a fist bump. And as if that wasn’t weird enough, when Georgia got to French, half the class jumped up and started cheering.
TWENTY-SEVEN
When Georgia checked her phone at lunch, she had twenty-eight messages, five missed calls and two hundred new Instagram followers. She was a superstar in every lesson. Every hallway slowed by high fives and selfies, and Georgia quickly realised it was quicker to autograph the newspapers shoved in her face than to argue that she didn’t want to. One cheeky year-seven even got his arm signed with a bronze Sharpie.
Georgia feared the germy contents of the spare PE kit box. Luckily, she found spare shorts in her locker and Rolf lent her one of the school’s shiny red gym shirts, freshly laundered, but gigantic.
The teachers split girls into teams of five and they did twenty-minute rotations of basketball, hockey and football. Georgia preferred solo sports like running, but threw herself into the games, hoping that a sweat would take her mind off things.
Ten minutes before the end, a hockey ball flipped up and whacked Georgia on the knuckles. It wasn’t bad, but she milked the injury to get an early walk to the changing room. As the rest of the girls filled the changing room with noise and BO, Georgia was already showered. And for the first time in her life, she had to screen her messages. Journalists had got her number from somewhere and she had two requests for newspaper interviews and a call from a researcher from BBC News.
There was a voice message from Georgia’s nan. She had an old-person’s knack for stretching a story, and as Georgia listened to a convoluted explanation of how her grandmother had seen the picture after her neighbour Joanie knocked on the kitchen door while she was upstairs doing her yoga, a fresh message from Zac popped up.