It’s actually called the Isolation Room, but we call it the Staring at the Wall Club, because that’s what we do – stare at the wall. It’s my second time this week, the ninth time this month. It’s not because I do anything really bad, it’s just that I can’t concentrate or keep still. Apparently it’s called ADHD – attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, which my mum and dad say is a complicated way of saying I’ve got ants in my pants. All I know is that I can’t help it, but it does mean I get sent to stare at the wall a lot. But not as often as James King in Year Nine. He tells me he gets sent here every day. He’s sitting the other side of the partition wall right now, tapping his foot against his chair leg. And there are four other kids here – two boys from Year Eight, two girls from Year Nine. We don’t talk to each other, but sometimes we smile or nod like we’re members of a secret club. But most of the time we sit in our cubicles and stare at the white wall, thinking about the things we’ve done, except all I can think of is going home with Jake to fight the cavalry.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

‘James, I think we’ve had enough of that!’

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

‘James.’ Mrs Ewens looks over the top of her computer. ‘Can you stop it?’

‘But, miss, I’ve been here for ages.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘Mine.’ James King sighs.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I stare at the wall.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

‘Hey, you!’ James King whispers like we’re in prison. I ignore him. He’s always in here because he’s been fighting, or has sworn at a teacher. I’m only in here because of crumpets. I try to concentrate but I can’t stop getting carried away by my imagination or the tiniest thing that grabs my attention, like cars going by outside and a spider crawling down the wall, along the floor. I slide my shoe across the carpet tile. The spider crawls up the toe of my shoe, over my laces.

‘Oi!’

‘What?’ I jump out of my thoughts as James King pokes his head round the edge of the partition. I don’t want to talk to him and get in more trouble, but Jake says the worst thing you can do is ignore James King because he’ll think you’re scared of him.

‘What?’ I whisper back.

‘Did you get sent to Mr Mclugash?’ James King talks like he’s my friend but he never says my name.

‘No,’ I whisper back.

‘I did,’ he boasts. ‘Says he’s going to expel me if I do it again. What did you do?’

‘Nothing much. Just couldn’t sit still.’