All I’m focused on is the numbers; the more signatures the better. Chloe was so dejected yesterday, like a stray dog that had been kicked one too many times, and I wonder if I can be a good friend, a better friend, the best sort, and whether that will make up for anything.

The international students decline to sign the petition, except for Bochen, who listens carefully.

‘What do you do with it?’ she asks.

‘I’ll give it to Mrs Christie, and if that doesn’t work, the School Board.’

‘No government?’

‘No, never,’ I say and she signs.

I count and I’ve hit ten pages of names and addresses. Ten! I’d count actual numbers of signatures but I can’t afford to slow down for one second.

Chloe’s not at school and I can’t tell from her messages whether she’s really sick or just moping. I’m hoping to surprise her with an avalanche of signatures by the time she comes back to school tomorrow and she will weep tears of joy and tell me how amazing I am, both as a muse and a future prime minister or CEO or general all-round boss bitch and she will be right.

I race to every class as soon as the bell goes, so I can use the seven minutes in-between periods to get signatures.

At lunch I convince Marley and Sarah to cover the bottom corridors, while Ally and I roam the top levels. It is a testament to our collective boredom that they agree without a single argument.

Ally and I have amazing success with the Elevens and Twelves, who are grumpy about their assessment tasks and sign easily. I don’t think about how the entire school probably feels sorry for our year level and I don’t care if some are pity signatures.

We work our way down to our floor again and come across Petra sitting in an empty classroom with some minor fellow geeks, playing chess of all things and it’s like we’re out on the savannah and I’m a cheetah and she’s an antelope. Dinner time, little antelope.

‘Tal, no,’ murmurs Ally, and tries to reverse out the door, tugging on my sleeve. I pretend I haven’t heard her.

Petra is minus her twin Audrey and looks scared when she sees us. I can actually hear Ally whimpering behind me.

‘Hi everyone. We’re petitioning Mrs Christie about the unfair censorship of Chloe Cardell’s artwork.’

‘Chloe who?’ one of the chess players asks.

‘If you care about freedom of speech, then you should sign it.’

I place the clipboard down on the table and hold out a handful of pens. The geeks avoid eye contact.

‘Who’s organising it? Is it Amnesty International?’ one of the girls asks Petra.

‘It’s me!’ Is it that hard to believe?