‘No drinks near the book!’ Mr Harrington interrupts us, rushing over. ‘There’s a hundred years of history right there!’

‘Sorry,’ I say, taking a big step backwards. They should put a sign up or something. How was I supposed to know?

‘Pick a year,’ Bec says, handing me her drink.

‘Erm … sixty-nine?’ I say.

‘You’re an actual child. I guess you really can’t get Cameron off your mind.’ She starts flicking through the pages. ‘Here,’ she says, ‘class of sixty-nine. Wasn’t this the summer they wrote songs about?’ She reads some of the words on the page. ‘Huh … I’m right.’

‘What do you mean?’ I say, still holding both our drinks, trying to see from a distance.

‘See right here? These are Beatles lyrics!’ She flicks forwards a few pages. ‘And look, this is that song by The Police!’

‘The song about watching every move a person makes? Truly the creepiest thing anyone has ever written,’ Chase says, horrified. ‘I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make.’ He pushes his drink into my hands so I’m now holding three glasses.

‘Look,’ he says, ‘this is ridiculous. Someone has just written “Long live the mullet!”’

‘Mullets are back in fashion …’ Bec says.

‘Don’t remind me,’ he says with a groan.

‘Miss!’ Bec calls, spotting Madzikanda. ‘What year did you graduate? Seventy-six?’

‘Ninety-eight!’ she says, scandalized. ‘How old do you think I am?’

‘Sorry!’ Bec laughs. ‘Numbers were never my strong suit.’

‘It’s lucky you’re good at sports then, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll take that coming from you!’ Bec beams, flicking through the pages again. ‘Here it is. Class of ninety-eight.’ She studies the page for a moment. ‘Which one is yours, miss?’

‘The only one without a signature,’ Madzikanda replies, mysterious as ever.

‘Why doesn’t it have a signature?’ Bec says, looking for it. And then her jaw actually falls open. ‘Oh my God,’ she says. ‘You didn’t wanna incriminate yourself!’

‘What?’ I say. ‘What on earth does it say?!’

‘There’s a reason we don’t let you read that thing until the last night,’ Madzikanda says with a twinkle. ‘How are we supposed to discipline you if you know what we used to get up to?’

‘Yeah, but this, miss … This is … I didn’t know you had it in you.’

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds …’ She chuckles. ‘Trust me.’

‘What did she write?’ I say again, desperately trying to get a look at the book.

‘Never you mind,’ Madzikanda says, turning the page to the class of 2025.

‘Write whatever you want.’ She hands the pen to Bec. ‘Don’t let them influence you.’

‘Thanks, miss,’ she says, watching as Madzikanda goes to busy herself elsewhere. Bec thinks for a moment, staring at the empty page, and then she scribbles something down, looking incredibly proud of herself. Chase leans in to read what she’s written.

‘Taylor Swift.’

‘I don’t know why you thought I was joking …’