Miss Ellis was full of those little tips and tricks. She was open with all her students about her own mental health; her grief at the loss of her niece, Denni King, but also her turbulent upbringing, her dad dying from drink-driving and her mum OD’ing and orphaning Miss Ellis and her two sisters.

Miss Ellis had a glowing face, with freckles across her nose that made her look both sun-kissed and yet kind of like a British model. She was fit – always into bushwalking, or jogging, or boxing. Most teachers treated the cool kids or good-looking kids differently: with that half-desperate ‘please, let me be cool too’ kind of attitude that even adults seemed to have, which Jasmine found a bit depressing. But not Miss Ellis. She treated everyone the same. Even if she talked to you like she’d seen all your secret Snapchats. All of the girls at Limestone District were fiercely protective of her – especially since the tragedy. Denni King had been one of their own, after all.

Jasmine caught more than a few of the boys checking out Miss Ellis’s bum as she turned to wipe something off the board, including Mr North, who unfortunately would be coming with them on the camp. Jasmine had it on good authority that he took steroids, which not only made him big as a brick shithouse but also made him want to root like a rabbit. All of the girls knew that, and some of them loved it and used it, while some others were quite rightfully creeped out by it, including Jasmine.

Joining Miss Ellis and Mr North on the camp was Mr Michaels – Jack – her sweet, secret, ditzy, soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. Supervising thirty hormone-ravaged teenage girls. They were heroes, really.

‘Alright, ladies,’ shouted Mr North above the noise. ‘Grab your things and we’ll head out to the oval. Hand in your phones and don’t whinge. You all agreed to it. This is a wilderness experience not a spend all day on your phone experience, and yes, I will give them back so you can take photos when we reach the lookout, tomorrow.’

Madison, of course, only handed over a fake phone: an old iPhone she hadn’t used since last year. Her real phone was hidden in her bra, even though, as Georgia pointed out, Mr North would happily search there.

Jasmine followed along with the group as they headed out onto the oval, from where they would hike directly to the campsite.

The October skies above were blue and cloudless. The track was rough: thin, lined with gravel and roots and rocks, edged by mountain needlebush and native laurel that snagged on socks and shorts, and scratched bare legs. The air was heady with eucalypt. Bird noises filled the air, loudest from the flock of yellow-tailed black cockatoos flying overheard, their harsh caws sounding through the trees.