‘One half-sister,’ I say, ‘Australia and a dog.’

She taps the pen on her lip. ‘Interesting … I mean the bit about Australia. Are your mum and dad Australian?’

‘No.’

Annie continues to look at me, just waiting for me to say more.

‘Mum was in Australia when she had me,’ I finally say. ‘She was travelling.’

‘And your dad …?’

‘Never met him.’

After a second, she says, ‘Most beloved object?’

Annie has this way of speaking, like she expects to be obeyed, which is why instead of saying ‘my phone’ or ‘my laptop’, I go with the truth. ‘My Orion binoculars.’

‘Are you an ornithologist too?’

‘No. I look at stars and the moon.’

‘Through binoculars? I didn’t know you could do that.’ She jots down a few more notes. ‘Where would you go if you were invisible?’ She asks this without looking up.

‘I couldn’t be invisible.’

‘Just answer the question, Meg.’

‘If I was invisible, which I never could be, I would board a space shuttle and fly to galaxy NGC 660, although that’s also impossible because it’s forty-five million light years away and –’

‘Stop,’ Annie says, holding up a hand. ‘What is your life’s ambition?’

‘To become an astronaut.’ The words fly out of my mouth.

Annie bursts out laughing then stops when she sees my face. ‘Hang on,’ she says. ‘You’re not joking?’ I shake my head and her eyes widen. ‘But unless you’re five, that’s a terrible ambition because you’re never going to achieve it! Why set yourself up for failure?’ She’s starting to enjoy herself now. ‘I mean, how does one even become an astronaut?’

I know the answer to this. ‘You get a first class degree in a suitable subject – engineering, maths, physics – then a further degree, then you either train to be a pilot or an engineer. I’m going to train to be a test pilot, and then –’

‘You, a test pilot?’ Annie throws her head back and cackles. ‘No offence, but you’re not exactly action hero material, Meg!’

I shake my head. ‘You need to be technically minded, controlled, calm. I could be a test pilot.’

Something about the way I say this makes her stop laughing. ‘You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?’

‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

My words hang in the air for a moment, then she says, ‘Don’t you think it would be lonely, up there in space?’

I think about how I feel when the bell rings for break or lunch and I know I’m going to be on my own, and the hours I spend alone in my bedroom over the weekend. ‘I don’t think loneliness will be a problem,’ I say.

Annie’s eyes narrow. ‘What happened to that friend of yours? The one with all the red hair?’

‘Harriet? She moved to New Zealand.’

‘Bummer … So, do you still hear from her?’

I’m not sure if Annie’s still interviewing me. I think about the emails that used to arrive from Harriet every day, and how we would Skype most evenings; I’d be in my pyjamas ready to go to bed and Harriet would be about to go to school full of stories about ‘crazy Kenzie’ and ‘hot but boring Ethan’. But then her emails got shorter and shorter, and I’d send two or three before I got a reply and when we last Skyped I could tell from her face that it had become a chore for her, like speaking to her nan or something.