The next act was taking the stage. In front of them three judges sat at school desks. There was a baldy with a mysterious scab on his head, a long-limbed Nigerian in a gele headdress and a man with a wispy grey beard and leather trousers. He sat with his legs astride the back of his chair to show that he was down with the kids.

By the time Alfie came back with four beakers of orange squash and jam rings tucked into his cheeks there were five boys lining up on stage. They were all fifteen or sixteen. Nice-looking lads, four black, one Asian, and all dressed in stripy T-shirts, chinos and slip-on shoes.

Salman was smirking. ‘It’s like they walked into Gap and bought everything.’

Jay snorted. ‘Losers.’

‘Yo, people!’ a big lad in the middle of the line-up yelled. He was trying to act cool, but his eyes betrayed nerves. ‘We’re contestant seven. We’re from George Orwell Academy and we’re called Womb 101.’

There were a few claps from members of the audience, followed by a few awkward seconds as a fat-assed music teacher bent over fiddling with the CD player that had their backing track on it.

‘You might know this song,’ the big lad said. ‘The original’s by One Direction. It’s called “What Makes You Beautiful”.’

The four members of Brontobyte all looked at each other and groaned. Alfie summed up the mood.

‘Frankly, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.’

As the backing track kicked in, Womb 101 sprang into an athletic dance routine, with four members moving back, and the big guy in the middle stepping up to a microphone. The dancing looked sharp, but everyone in the room really snapped to attention when a powerful lead vocal started.

The voice was higher than you’d expect from a big black guy, but he really nailed the sense of longing for the girl he was singing about. When the rest of Womb 101 joined in for the chorus the sound swamped the backing track, but they were all decent singers and their routine was tight.

As Womb 101 hit their stride, Jay’s music teacher Mr Currie approached Brontobyte from behind. He’d only been teaching for a couple of years. Half the girls at Carleton Road School had a thing for his square jaw and gym-pumped bod.

He tapped in time as the singing and finger clicking continued. ‘They’re really uplifting, aren’t they?’

The four boys looked back at their teacher with distaste.

‘Boy bands should be machine-gunned,’ Alfie said. ‘They’re singing to a backing track. How’s that even music?’

‘I bet they win as well,’ Tristan said contemptuously. ‘I saw their teacher nattering to the judges all through lunch.’

Mr Currie spoke firmly. ‘Tristan, if Womb 101 win it will be because they’re really talented. Have you any idea how much practice it takes to sing and dance like that?’