More than a few mouths are open. A gust of wind tears through the trees, jangling leaves, jangling nerves. I haven’t heard anything about a chain email, but it doesn’t surprise me that I’d be left out of the loop.

‘How would you know, Natalia?’ Teaghan demands. ‘Have you got some special line to the police?’

Natalia may be short and slight, but she commands everyone’s attention easily. ‘The GPS thing doesn’t make any sense. If police knew where she was, they would have rescued her days ago, they wouldn’t wait. If they knew anything, they’d be talking. Do you know how long it’s been? She’s not coming home.’

‘We know how long it’s been!’ Claire manages to get these last words out before dissolving into tears.

Milla cradles Claire’s head on her shoulder, her face crumpled. ‘Why are you such a bitch, Natalia? Why can’t you be nice?’

Sarah gasps at that, gasps so hard I almost laugh at the melodrama of it. People talking back to Natalia: it was like a solar eclipse. It hardly ever happened.

Natalia’s voice is calm but her hands are clenched. ‘You’re all thinking exactly the same thing. Don’t pretend you’re not.’ She stands up and her friends stand with her. ‘Eighty-eight hours and counting. That’s too long. Time to face facts. I’m the only person with the guts to say it.’

No one speaks.

I can see Natalia’s chest rising and falling, even from here.

The wind does a lap of the quadrangle, scattering plastic wrappers and paper bags. Sarah clamps her hands over her shiny hair.

The anger melts off Natalia’s face and something else, another expression, is visible for a split second before she covers it up. Then her face hardens and she mutters to herself and turns away.

‘Huh,’ says Lisbeth.

Even though Lisbeth has cochlear implants in both ears, she still lip-reads at times. I don’t ask her what she’s seen. If she wanted to tell me, she would.

The bell rings.

Everyone disperses slower than usual. I jump off the wall and brush off my skirt. There’s a strange sensation in my mouth, like it's full of words I might actually let out at school.

Lisbeth says, ‘It doesn’t seem real, does it? It’s like a nightmare. I’ve been praying a lot.’

I can’t think of a reply to that, so I ask a question. ‘Do you think she’ll get released?’

‘I read about something that happened in America. Three girls were held in a basement for eleven whole years before they escaped, all of them alive. It gave me some hope.’