Blake nods. “Oh. I get it. You’ve got thrown out of school again.”

I follow him into the small room. It leads to the kitchen. Blake opens the fridge and closes it again, sighing loudly to make sure I hear it.

“I hate macaroni cheese,” Blake says. “Isn’t there anything else?”

“Look in the freezer,” I say.

I don’t need to tell him where to find food. He’s making a point. Blake wants food prepared for him in the fridge at all times just in case he’s passing by.

Blake shrugs and says, “I’ll get take-out.”

He pushes back past me, grabs his rucksack from the hallway and thunders upstairs. I dig through the small chest of drawers and find the envelopes in the bottom one, hidden beneath some tea towels. I grab a handful of envelopes and take them back up.

I stop by my bedroom doorway. I can’t go further. Blake’s in my room. He’s standing by my bed holding up my letter to Charity. He has no right to be in my room. He has no right to touch my letter. Annie told me from the beginning that this room is my personal space and she will respect that. Even she knocks. I think of the security guard and how he stood so close to me to make me feel small. I know why Blake’s really in here. It’s to remind me that this is his room in his house.

I take a deep breath. I don’t care about Charity, but I care about Ms Nzegwu. I probably made things bad for her. I don’t care about Blake, but I do care about Annie. I don’t want to make things bad for her too.

I make myself look at Blake’s hand holding my letter. His thumb and finger are holding it tight like it’s the brakes on a bike. Another deep breath.

My head clears a bit. I don’t mind Blake reading my letter to Charity. It’s nothing private. But my letter to Kandi is right there, next to my knitting. It’s face down, so Blake can’t see the writing. I try not to look at it, because he’s staring at me with a smirk.

“Why d’you have to write this?” Blake asks.

“None of your business,” I say.

I want to take the words straight back and say something calmer. It’s like my brain plans one thing and my mouth says something different.

“I reckon it is my business,” Blake says. “Because if you’ve got thrown out of school and you’ve got to write this.” He waves the letter. “Then that’s going to stress Mum.”