‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I said, thinking about perhaps even giving Ingrid a wink like my Poppa does.

‘Are you sure? You seem a bit gloomy lately.’

‘Really, I’m okay,’ I told her and stood, keen to get away from her.

‘Wait! I’ve got something for you,’ she said, standing up too.

‘What is it?’ I asked, intrigued.

She handed me a USB. ‘It has an instrumental version of Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time” on it. It’s a nice song. It was released around the time I was studying at the conservatorium. Because I was so busy, I don’t really know much about contemporary music five years either side of that time. Anyway, you can use it to practise your singing at home.’

‘Thanks,’ I said sincerely.

‘And don’t think leaving it at home will get you out of practising during music class! I have another copy.’ She smiled. ‘Please give it your best this morning,’ Ingrid instructed before leading me back into the hall.

I sang, and I really tried the best I could. Surprisingly, it helped take my mind off of Mum for a while, even though Jamie was being all weird, grinning at me as I tried singing just a bit more than usual.

As soon as the bell rang, I dragged Caroline off to the school changing rooms to get ready for training. As she was pulling on her basketball shoes, she said, ‘Hey, Trent said you were at his mum’s shop the other day.’

‘Really?’ I asked, excited.

‘Yeah.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Nah,’ Caroline replied and I thought, Oh well, at least he noticed me.

‘Oh, that’s right, he asked what your name was.’

‘And you told him, right?’ I blurted out.

‘Of course I didn’t,’ she said sarcastically. ‘But I’ve warned you, Phoebe, don’t get too interested in him.’

It was too late, I was already jumping out of my skin wanting to see him again.

When we stepped into the stadium there were a few of Trent’s teammates shooting hoops at the far end of the court. I started to feel disappointed that maybe Trent wasn’t going to make it.

Caroline and I chucked our bags on the bench and then started shooting hoops at the other end of the court.

‘Have you got a song you listen to before games?’ Caroline asked as she passed me the ball.

I shook my head and lined up a shot. ‘Not really. What’s yours?’

‘“Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin. I’ll give you a listen before we get started,’ she said.

A couple of other guys walked into the stadium and again I felt disappointment when I realised none of them were Trent. I kept attempting to hit five shots in a row from the free-throw line to take my mind off him.