Now I’m lying on the pavement, jerking my limbs, doing exactly what Alice did when she showed me what I looked like when I’m having a seizure, because, of course, I’ve never actually seen it. I feel stupid and self-conscious. I’m not doing it right. It must be obvious to anyone watching that this isn’t real. I can’t believe I’m actually going through with it, but I’m doing it now, so I can’t stop.

I’m aware of some of the Year Sevens turning round and edging closer, hear their comments. “Look at that girl on the pavement!” “OMG, she’s having a fit.” “What the fuck’s she doing?” “ ’S epilepsy, innit.” “Yeah, she’s in my sister’s class. She’s always doing it.”

Alice kneels down beside me and places my head, tenderly and carefully, in her lap.

“Can you get a message to Mr. Rutherford?” she says to one of the Year Sevens. “He’ll be outside the gate by the coach. Tell him Lizzie Molyneux’s had a seizure on the way to school and that Alice Dawson’s looking after her till her mum gets home.”

Two women on the other side of the street come rushing over, but Alice reassures them. “It’s okay,” she says. “My friend has epilepsy. There’s no need for an ambulance. She’ll come round in a minute and I’ll take her home. This happens all the time.”

“Are you sure?” one of them says. “Maybe we ought to call one just in case.”

I open my eyes and blink rapidly, as if I’ve started to wake up. I went on a St. Johns Ambulance casualty simulation camp once and was told my “coming round after fainting” performance was one of the best they’d ever seen. I pull out all the stops to re-create it now. The last thing I need is an ambulance. If I’m taken to hospital, they’ll know I’ve been pretending. There must be ways they can tell if someone’s had a seizure or not. I’ll be in the most awful trouble.

“Hello, Lizzie,” Alice says. “You’ve had a little seizure, but you’re fine now. Just rest here for a while.”

I must say, she’s playing her part to perfection. I must be, too, if the look on these women’s faces is anything to go by.

“Can I phone your parents?” asks one of them. I shake my head.

“I’m fine now, honestly.” I sit up, slowly and gingerly. “I just need to go home and rest. Alice will take me.”

Alice helps me to my feet and grabs hold of my rucksack.

“Come on, Lizzie. Let’s get you home to your mum.”

“You will tell Mr. Rutherford, won’t you?” she calls back to the Year Seven girl, who nods and races off toward the school with her friends.