I pick up my clipboard and leave and Ally rushes to catch up to me, saying nothing, but sticking to my side.

DAY 61

It is completely unacceptable that Mrs Christie is not in her office when I have a million signatures to hand over, collected scrupulously over the last two days. Who can blame her, though, it must be hard to admit that everyone at this school thinks you’re wrong wrong wrong. She’s such an egomaniac it would never occur to her that someone might ever stand up to her.

‘Try the staff room,’ offers the receptionist through the annoying little window that makes her look like she’s selling drive-thru hamburgers.

I narrow my eyes to indicate my disapproval and whirl away, and the queue behind me shuffles up.

In a case of the most rotten or perhaps the best timing ever, Petra and Audrey walk across the open space in front of me, arm-in-arm. I brighten my face when I see them, smiling like I’m an entrant in a beauty pageant and holding up my impressive stack of paper. Behold my wrath and quake before me et cetera, the Queen is here to carve new factions in the kingdom and reign supreme. I zoom the petitions through the air while Audrey sneers and Petra looks away.

The doors to the staff room are almost as busy as reception, swinging back and forth every few seconds spitting out teachers or sucking them in, but the teachers have looks on their faces that say don’t interrupt me, probably on account of not having had enough coffee or sleep or not having had sex in the last two hundred years.

Every time one of the staffroom doors swings open you get a tantalising glimpse of the interior. Everyone knows that the teachers are always getting drunk in the staffroom and that’s why they never let students look inside although I guess 8.30 a.m. is a little early.

‘Natalia, can I help you?’

Finally Mr Scrutton takes pity and lingers in the doorway.

‘Mrs Christie is supposed to be in there.’

‘Let me check.’

The doors slam in unison, and the posters on the wall opposite flutter. As if the universe is trying to mock me, there’s a big poster publicising the art exhibition. The exhibition cocktail evening is tonight, which means I only have today to get Chloe’s artwork reinstated. I don’t have time to play cat-and-mouse with Christie.

‘No luck, I’m afraid, Natalia.’ Mr Scrutton stands in the doorway, keeping it ajar with one foot. A microwave dings somewhere in the den of iniquity. ‘Have you tried her office?’

I’d like to answer his very obvious question but my attention has been taken by the noticeboard just inside the staffroom, near the open door. Student photos are pinned up with notes underneath, warning of chronic asthma, allergies, epileptic seizures, diabetes and more. Yin’s face is among them.