Buoyed by this good news, I locked the house up, ready to front up to my weird new school again. The walk to school was uneventful, but I enjoyed the exercise. I needed to get fit if I stood a chance of beating Hayley on the court.

When I made it to morning circle, Ethan immediately walked over and handed me a song sheet. ‘Give it a try,’ he said, his long fringe falling over his eyes. ‘Singing is good for you, it really is. It’s supposed to make you happier and stuff.’ As he returned back to his spot across the room, I realised he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

It wasn’t that I actually didn’t like singing. I would muck around singing with Katie and Jane when we had sleepovers and stuff. And I used to sing along to Bob Marley, Paul Kelly and Willie Nelson with Mum and Dad when we went for long drives, especially when heading home to the Flinders Ranges or Port Augusta for a weekend camping or to see my Dad’s parents, Nanna and Poppa. It was just singing the boring hippie stuff that I didn’t like.

That particular morning, I felt more like shooting myself than singing, but Ingrid the music teacher had already fixed her laser beam eyes on me. So I opened my mouth and started yelling out of spite. She couldn’t really criticise me for that, could she? If she asked, I’d say that my yelling was my best singing style.

Ethan nodded at me from across the circle and gave me the thumbs up. Don’t push it, I thought.

Later, when we were walking out of the hall to class, a dark-haired short arse came up to me. ‘I’m Jamie,’ he said. ‘I’m in your class. I like your top.’

I gave him a wry smile. I know I should have been a bit warmer, but I was nervous about going back into class. We hadn’t finished establishing our class rules and learning space with Michael during the first week, so I knew this morning wasn’t exactly going to be earth-shattering.

As I expected, the first thing Michael said was, ‘Okay, let’s get back to setting up our class rules and learning space.’

Ethan was the most invested in putting forth good suggestions. He seemed a bit too perfect for someone my age. He held back to let others ask questions and prompted people to speak more if he didn’t think they’d fully explained their point. It was almost like he was a teacher, rather than a Year Eleven student. And the other thing was, he didn’t come across as a goody-goody, just considerate. Boys at my old school, Wattleside High, would cut in over the top of people whenever they felt like it.

‘We need a place where people can sleep in the class, or chill out with music. And it has sleep masks and comfy pillows if they’re feeling unwell or stressed,’ Caroline suggested. I nearly laughed out loud because, seriously, I thought she was taking the piss.