Mr. Straitley’s still being a pain. I’ll never be one of his favorites. The two other New Boys don’t like him either. Goldie watches him like he’s something the cat dragged in, and Poodle spends his time in class drawing in his Latin book. Neither has settled in properly yet. Neither has proved to be popular. Poodle’s a bit of a freak, and Goldie’s a bit too full of himself to ever be one of the cool kids.

Well, we have that in common, I guess. I’ve never been popular. I don’t run with the rest of the pack. I’m a different species. But in view of My Condition, it’s not good to be seen as a loner. And, not being quite an Alpha Dog, I can’t afford to pick and choose. Still, none of that matters now. Today, something happened, Mousey. Something really important. A door has opened. A page has turned. And it all began with an apple.

• • •

St. Oswald’s is a Church school. They’re always collecting for some cause or other. If it’s not poppies, it’s flags, or buns. This lunchtime it was apples. Fivepence each, for charity, an apple and a sticker. Mr. Clarke’s room was half full of boys—plus me and Goldie and Poodle, of course—and this boy from the Lower School came in with a box full of apples.

No one seemed too keen at first. Fivepence for an apple. You could get a ton of sweets for that. But Mr. Clarke—no, Harry—said: “Forbidden fruit. How can we resist?”

After that, everyone wanted one. So we went over to the teacher’s desk and handed over our money. Everyone was milling around, putting stickers on their heads, grabbing apples from the box. And then there was this ugly one. Not bad, but smaller than the rest, and with a funny-looking wart like something on a witch’s nose. And by the time we’d all chosen ours, there were only three apples left in the box: two good ones and the ugly one. And Harry chose the ugly one, and left the two good ones for someone else.

The boy who was selling the apples said: “Sir, that one’s manky.”

Harry smiled. I was standing next to him. And then he looked at me and said: “It’ll be fine on the inside. And that’s what matters, isn’t it? What it’s like on the inside?”

The boy went away, looking puzzled. But I knew at once what Harry meant. He’d chosen the apple that no one else would. The ugly apple. The odd one out. I’ve always been the odd one out. Even before Netherton Green, I was always the last to be chosen.