‘All right!’ says Andre, and the two of them bump chests. Then, one by one, the students standing around me are selected by Bella and Jackson.

‘Excellent!’ says Mr Badal, rubbing his hands together, before going off to sort out the pitch.

Soon there are only seven of us misfits left. Bella studies us, nose wrinkled, like she’s having to choose between an unappetising selection of sandwiches. ‘Ummm … this is hard …’

‘Just pick, Bella,’ says Ed. ‘We’re freezing out here.’

‘Heidi!’ she says.

Oh, come on. Heidi? Heidi screams if a ball comes within two metres of her and she’s wearing wedge-heel trainers that do up with zips! I go mountain biking and I walk all over the Downs, but just because I can do sums in my head everyone assumes I’m hopeless at sport!

Heidi drifts towards Bella’s group. ‘Thanks, babe,’ she says.

A gust of wind slams against me. I cling to my hockey stick for support, and that’s when I hear my name being called. ‘Meg!’ shouts Jackson. ‘Wake up and get your brainy arse over here.’

‘Me?’ I say, glancing over my shoulder.

‘Yes, you. And I’ll take you lot as well.’ He points at the three students standing nearest to him.

‘Hey, it’s my go,’ says Bella.

‘Richard’s mum’s right,’ says Jackson. ‘This is a stupid way to pick teams.’

‘Finally,’ says Ed. ‘Let’s go.’ He picks up his hockey stick and heads across the field. Bella follows him.

‘Grab a spoon, Bella!’ Jackson yells after her.

She turns back. ‘What?’

‘You’re about to taste defeat!’

‘Idiot,’ she mutters, then she jogs after Ed.

‘Yeah, you run away because we’re the whup and you guys are the arse!’ Then he screams, holds his stick above his head, and starts sprinting across the field. ‘Come on, team!’ he shouts over his shoulder. ‘Let’s murder them!’

Maybe it’s Jackson’s inspirational speech, or maybe it’s because I’m so tired and angry with Mum, but I really throw myself into the game. At one point I’m running so fast for the ball that I don’t notice Mr Badal until it’s too late. I slam into his solid bulk and we both fall smack down into the mud.

Ed, who was racing me for the ball, narrowly avoids crashing down with us by jumping to one side. Sir scowls and rubs his elbow.

‘Man up, Sir!’ shouts Ed, before whacking the ball and flying after it.

I may be playing with a mad energy, but I’m also hopeless – I blame Mum for this too: I score an own goal, get a penalty for ‘using my stick in a dangerous way’ (I didn’t: my hands were so slippery the stick just shot towards Heidi’s face), and I even manage to trip over a crisp packet. Bella’s team beats us seven–two.

As we trudge back to the changing rooms, Jackson slaps me on the shoulder. ‘You’re my player of the match, Clarky.’

‘But I got two penalties – and an own goal!’