‘What’s this?’ I gasp. Then I’m leapt on by two screaming girls in purple wigs.

I wash and change as quicky as I can after the race and rush towards the main building, trying to balance my PE bag and Art folio. There’s barely time to eat my sandwich before fifth period. I want to write down the ideas I had while running, before they float away.

Fairytales. Tangled hair. Blue lips. Beauty.

‘Chloe Cardell!’

Ms Hammond chases after me, sans clipboard but sporting her trademark whistle around her neck. Once she reaches me she gets straight to the point.

‘I want to talk to you about joining the cross-country squad. We train three times a week, starting at 7.30 a.m.’

I shake my head straight away, but Ms Hammond either doesn’t notice, or chooses to ignore it.

‘Every year we go away for a training camp to Swansea, it’s a lot of fun. It’s not all training. We go whale watching and cook big dinners together. It would be a good way to make some friends—some more friends—’

It’s clear she thinks I’m a social pariah in desperate need of help.

‘I don’t think so.’ I’m pretty sure Sarah is on the team, and she’s not the kind of friend I’m looking to make. Also, I don’t see any way to add ‘runner’ to ‘mediocre artist’ and ‘person who gets As in Maths’. There’s nothing that Balmoral won’t turn into a cut-throat competition.

‘I’m pretty busy with schoolwork actually.’

‘But you ran so well today, Chloe. You looked great out there, your form was perfect. With the right training you could improve astronomically.’

I force myself to be brighter and bubblier than usual, to soften any possible offence. ‘Oh, thanks for asking, Ms Hammond, but I don’t think I have the time for it.’

I clutch my folio tight to my chest, like armour, and hurry away.

DAY 12

Mum does a pretty good job of parking Ron and Pearl’s car, even though she’s only driven it once before. The Barina hatchback is a dung beetle in a school car park full of four-wheel drives and shiny gold sedans.

We get out and put our jackets on.

‘You sure?’ I’m probably asking myself this question as much as I’m asking Mum. ‘You never wanted to come to another school thing ever again.’

‘This is different.’

Mum was short with me the whole way here, which means she’s nervous. I spent the drive catching her up on the week’s events at school. Mostly that there were a suspicious number of substitute teachers in rotation, but that only male teachers were missing class. Petra also told me at morning recess that she’d seen a group of four detectives after orchestra practice. And there were the police searching the creek next door, of course.