Actually, I had two thoughts at once, which was totally incredible. But while I stood there, with the stick in my hand, one of my feet on the track, my mouth flopping open, I realised I was gonna remember this moment for the rest of my life.

I don’t know if I can put it into words properly, but here goes. One part of my brain — the dim part — understood clearly, like it was reading from a whiteboard, that nothing is really new. Every person who’d lived in our valley, they’d all wanted to find something special, whether it was being happy or a success, or just knowing they belonged here.

But even though they wanted this something special, there was nothing special about the fact they wanted it. Hell, does any of that make any sense?

At the same time, the other part of my brain — the really dim part — was telling me something different.

While I kept standing there, foot in mid-air, stick in hand, mouth in flop, it was saying that everyone is special and so is everything they do. Any sense there?

I felt myself filling up with it. It was like when you come outside and stand in the sunlight on a really awesome day, and all this warmth and happiness comes flooding through you. The whole world seems magic; you can do anything, be anything. I can’t ever say that sort of stuff to my mates, either!

I was going to live an amazing life. I was going to write, travel, be on the first manned mission to Mars if 50,000 other people didn’t get chosen ahead of me. I guessed — I hoped — that lots of people before in our valley had felt the same sort of thing. That didn’t matter. It was still my discovery. My treasure. I’d found it. Does any of that make any sense?

I began bounding up the track. There was a stupid grin across my face. I swung the stick in crazy circles; I heard myself laughing and half-cheering out loud. Hell, I hoped nobody in those flash new houses could hear me.

And while I was doing these weird things, these things that would get me locked up in a little white room if anyone saw, a third part of my brain — the one so dim it had been invisible up to now — clicked into action, and spoke to me. ‘You’ve changed your mind about something else, too, haven’t you?’

Yeah, I had. I was halfway up the track now, still leaping and sniggering and behaving like a happy psycho. Hey, if I timed things right I might even run into Marama driving Melody back.