‘Right! This kitchen is out of bounds unless Ms Ayres says otherwise,’ Shaun declared, holding open the door for seven unhappy teens. Aaron was the third to file in. He withheld eye contact and fidgeted ceaselessly, scratching his cheek, rubbing his nose, adjusting his pants.

He looked tired. They all looked tired.

‘What’s on the menu tonight, Ms Ayres?’ Shaun’s tone was jocular. Then the big redhead collapsed onto one of the chairs I’d arranged in a semi-circle. ‘Marcus! Did I tell you to sit?’

‘It’s all right.’ I didn’t want them drifting around the kitchen. Nathan Bosanko had already wandered over to peer at my spice rack, licking his lips with a wet, lingering tongue. Something about that kid made my skin crawl. ‘Everyone sit down. You’re going to be peeling potatoes tonight.’

‘Awesome,’ somebody grumbled. But most of the boys seated themselves without complaint. When I handed out the vegetable peelers, Aaron didn’t even look up.

‘For those who’ve never done this before, let me show you how to peel a potato.’ I began to demonstrate. ‘See? It’s easy.’

‘Mr King!’ Shaun snapped. ‘Watch and learn. This is for your benefit.’

Aaron grimaced and raised his head. Our eyes locked. I felt a kind of jolt in my gut, but his expression remained blank.

‘Is this all for making chips?’ asked a freckled kid with a footballer’s build. He had sandy hair, blue eyes and a hectoring voice. ‘You can buy frozen chips, in case you don’t realise.’

‘Not helpful, Connor,’ Rhys warned him.

Connor, I thought. That makes sense. Connor Pusnik was an old-fashioned bully. His parents had sent him to Vetnet after his third school expulsion. ‘He’s got some sort of acquired brain injury from playing sport,’ Shaun had told me. ‘At least, that’s the excuse I was given.’

I’d seen Connor jostling some of the other campers on his way through the kitchen door. Shaun had missed it, but I’ve known quite a few Connors, over the years. Kids like him are responsible for a lot of homeschooling.

By this time Nathan had already plucked a potato from the pile in front of him and started peeling it, slowly and deliberately. The process seemed to fascinate him; he was almost cross-eyed as he studied each growing spiral of skin. The others joined in one by one. Aaron worked sluggishly. Connor hacked away as if he was trying to defend himself. Dean nervously dabbed at a potato with his peeler like someone trying to flick a dead fly off a table.