Alan and Vince have gone back to keeping their distance, but that’s fine. I am starting to realise that I can call on them if I need them and that they’d have my back. I’m confident of that. In a way, I’m oddly proud of my new, strangely earned nickname. We’re all soldiers, the three of us.

I spend breaktime on my phone, looking at more gifs and cartoons of the fat, green frog. There’s a few that I’d probably get in trouble for looking at in school, but maybe that’s part of what makes them funny, too. I thumb through them, smiling. There’s always loads of memes going around at school, so I don’t see why this is different. Maybe some people would find this really offensive. But I don’t mind who sees them over my shoulder. There’s nothing that can stop me looking at them. It’s my right. And it’s my right to find them funny. Alan says it’s good to look at them because it shows we can do what we want even if some people would be offended. And it’s their problem if they get offended. They don’t have any right to tell us we can’t find these things funny. It’s powerful, laughter. It’s the one thing they can’t take away. The frog is dressed up in a Nazi uniform and going out shopping, or has a white hood on and is sticking a thumb up in front of a burning cross. The funniest ones are the ones of the man with the bomb in his turban being chased by GIs in mirror sunglasses who are about three times the size of him. The GIs can’t fit into the caves that the bomber keeps hiding in. In one, the bomber runs into a mousehole in an old Tom & Jerry cartoon, chased by Jerry the cat.

At lunchtime, I find Dana in the canteen, eating on her own. I sit down next to her. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t get up.

‘Hi,’ I start.

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry about the other day, at my house—’

‘Keep your voice down! I shouldn’t have been there, you know?’ Dana’s eyes dart around the room, as if there are spies listening to her every word. She’s right too.