‘Is this our first fight?’ I ask. If she only knew what I’d planned for tonight, she’d see what a stroke of brilliance it’s going to be.

Chloe bites her lip, looking very uncertain. ‘You’re not listening to me, Natalia. Maybe it’s because this whole thing is tangled up with how you’re feeling about Yin.’

My vision blanks for one second, blanks with a red curtain. When it comes back Chloe is tenser than ever.

‘I feel terrible that I asked you to pose like that, now that I know you used to be fr—’

I hold up my hand to halt her. Yeah, I can do that because I’m rich and beautiful and that’s one of my superpowers.

‘Not you as well,’ I say, and walk away.

‘I think it’s a little strong.’

Dad fails to do a head-check before changing lanes, which is hypocritical of him because he’s always at me about it when he takes me on a driving lesson and this is why I don’t listen to him about many things.

‘You said I had to decide the best approach on my own. Using judgement.’

‘That’s right and, respectfully, I’m telling you, I think the language you’ve chosen is too strong. There’s a difference between making your point and being inflammatory. You could have just said bring Chloe’s photo back.’

‘That’s got no flair, Dad. Boring.’

I turn to look at my placard resting on the back seat.

STEALING STUDENT VOICES SINCE 1910

Take that, Balmoral knobs.

The school is so proud of its august history that I think it strikes exactly the right note. I am very satisfied with my sign. It took me at least an hour to paint those thick black letters when I could have been doing a million other things like watching music videos or stalking Samuel Pulpitt’s adult children online.

I’m wearing all black and I’ve got a roll of gaffer tape ready to slap over my mouth. I was going to use my school scarf to gag myself, until Dad pointed out that might be in bad taste. And I took his fatherly feedback on board, because I’m not a monster. My small rectangle of tape will be very tasteful.

‘Any word from the principal?’

Mrs Christie had plenty of time after lunch today to respond to my impressive wad of paper and she did not get off her arse to do anything, so if anyone is to blame for tonight’s public spectacle, it is her.

I sit up and pretend I possess Mrs Christie’s giant mono-boob and prissy mouth. ‘I imagine she would say: We don’t negotiate with terrorists.’

Dad tries not to smile at that, but his cheeks twitch suspiciously.