Perhaps those aren’t just school rules; maybe that’s how it works everywhere. Be mediocre; don’t call anybody out; be well rewarded for never showing anyone else up. The careers advice board next to reception, that’s probably what it should say.

Our form room is one of several aged Portakabins, smelling of pencil lead and packed lunches, standing at the edge of the field. These dilapidated buildings are referred to by staff as temporary classrooms. They’ve got to have been here at least thirty years.

I stop at the foot of the steps. I study my shoes, my trousers, the front of my shirt. Every square centimetre of me will be open to scrutiny once I’m in the company of my class. They’ll find something to pick on anyway, they always do, but it’s prudent to carry out my own checks. Three times my index finger flicks at the zip of my flies before I accept that they’re definitely not agape. With a sharp inward breath, I step up the three stairs, power across the little foyer and stride into the room.

There are six other people already in here. I’ve judged my entrance just right. Too early, and I’d have been in here alone, like I’m lying in wait for them. Too late, and I’d be entering a packed room. That scares the shit out of me even on regular days.

Silence falls between them the second I place a foot in the room. This shouldn’t come as a surprise to me – these guys are the wingmen: without their ringleaders, they have no teeth. They’d sooner stare down at the phones buried in their laps, pretend there’d been no conversation before I walked in, than have the balls to look at me and admit what they’ve got themselves involved in.

Amit is sitting at the desk two along from mine. You wouldn’t think it possible for someone to be reading hard, but that is what he’s doing. It’s a scruffy paperback copy of Of Mice and Men, daubed with highlighter, clamped between two fists, his lips moving with the words, his look of concentration likely to give him a migraine.

Bending at the knees, I feel my desk taking the weight of my rucksack. I shimmy out of the straps then lower it to the floor, tucking it against the legs to keep it clear of stray feet. I feel several centimetres taller.