I look past her, at the walls already covered in posters and photos and her guitars resting in the corners. There’s no telling which of us got Amy’s room. They were both identical when we moved in.

Mum says Nia likes me, really, but I don’t think so. She’s a year older than me, and she’s never even pretended to be nice. She comes with Jay, just like I come with Mum—two people who chose to be together, and two who didn’t.

“Is that it?” Nia asks, and, when I don’t answer, she closes the door. Luckily for her, she can open it whenever she wants.

But, if I’m right, and there did use to be locks on the outside of Nia’s door and mine, it wasn’t that easy for Amy Pearce.

7

Miss Kiko asks me to stay behind after registration, then hands me a piece of paper and says, “You have a buddy request.”

“Pardon?”

“We have a new starter. And you’ve been chosen.”

Our school has a buddy system, but I can’t remember the last time they used it. We don’t get many new kids here, and my tutor must see my concern; she tilts her head and says, “Are you okay, Tom?”

I glance at the paper, and there it is: Amy Pearce’s name and the time we should meet.

So she picked our school after all, but why has she picked me? Or is this Mr. Trafford’s idea?

“I’d better go,” I say. “Thank you.”

Miss Kiko could have given me this in front of everyone, but she knows I don’t like attention. If she was picking the buddies, she would have paired Amy with someone else. But I’m not that lucky.

I feel a tap on my shoulder, and, when I turn, Amy smiles and says, “Remember me?”

“Yes.”

Except the girl I remember was a lot sadder, and, now…

“I need another tour,” Amy says. “I wasn’t paying much attention last time.”

“I noticed,” I say, and she smiles—a massive grin that reaches her eyes.

Her clothes are really smart, but “business dress” means something different at St. Gregory’s Academy for Girls. That’s where Nia goes, and she isn’t allowed into classes unless she’s “interview-ready.”

I stare at Amy, my confusion pushing out my unease. I want to know if she asked to be paired with me, but I’m scared of the answer.

When you’re a kid, they tell you not to talk to strangers. We’re used to keeping others out, and that doesn’t change in high school. The doors to most friendship groups closed years ago.

She tilts her head and says, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“You do?”

“Yep. You think I’m weird, because, last time, I was moody, and, this time, I’m…”

“Hyper?”