Clayton Street had a broad mix of kids, from OIL dropouts and offspring whose parents came to North Vegas for the cheap housing, to rich brats who lived behind the security-patrolled walls of Swallow Park.

These three had the designer labels and fussy hairdos that come to girls with moneyed parents, but there was also an awkwardness about them. One was a giant with a huge onion-shaped ass, there was a ghostly redhead with beaky nose and a birthmark stretching from cheek to neck. The third wore an Armani tracksuit over a boyish frame and had one eye that never quite opened.

‘Charlie Croker, isn’t it?’ the giant asked.

‘Sure,’ Charlie said, set on edge by an exchange of knowing glances.

‘Blown anything good up lately?’ the beaky one asked, earning noisy laughs from her two friends.

Charlie didn’t rise.

‘So, what’s it like in White Boulder?’ the girl in the tracksuit asked, sounding friendlier.

‘Fine,’ Charlie said, resenting the question as she unconsciously hid her face behind her pizza slice.

‘Did you turn lesbian living with all those girls?’ Tracksuit asked. ‘Or do you still crush on big black quarterbacks?’

Beaky made a honking laugh, like she had a peg on her nose. Charlie decided to stay quiet, hoping they’d get bored if she offered nothing to feed on.

‘It’s nasty what you did,’ the giant said. ‘All the pictures with the skin burnt off that poor girl’s face.’

‘Sixteen skin-graft operations,’ Beaky added.

So much for blissful anonymity, Charlie thought, standing up and grabbing her tray.

‘Aww, that’s so rude!’ Tracksuit said, smirking. ‘Walking off when we came here for a chat.’

‘I didn’t say you could leave,’ the giant hissed, grabbing Charlie’s wrist.

Charlie broke free and backed away, tipping her leftovers in a bin and slotting her tray into a metal rack. But as she headed for the closest door, the terrible trio were a few steps behind.

‘Did you have sex with Deion Powell?’ Tracksuit asked as Charlie started a brisk walk. ‘You were only thirteen, you dirty girl!’

If Charlie had known the school better, she’d have walked towards the library, or a place where there was likely to be staff. But she’d never been through this door before and found herself walking down a long, deserted hallway. As she neared the end, the air thickened with humidity and body spray.

The male locker room was on the left, transgender right and female straight ahead. Charlie hoped to find plenty of bodies in the girls’ room, or better still a member of staff to scare the terrible trio off. But this wasn’t her day.

‘A nice place for a pow-wow,’ the giant carped, pounding locker doors as Charlie passed benches and lockers. She hoped the double doors leading to the gym would come open. But they rattled in their frame, locked.