I’d actually talked to Yin in my first week. She was one of the first girls to pay me any attention at all.

I had been in the bathrooms near the science labs, in a cubicle. Not to pee, but to buy time away from the maelstrom of new faces and hard-to-find classrooms. I wasn’t the only new student. Lots of families couldn’t afford the full six years at Balmoral, so plenty of girls started in Year Ten. But those families at least paid three years’ tuition. I wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

I’d gone into the bathroom alone, but soon several pairs of feet came in and set up at the mirrors and sinks. The taps turned on and off, and I remained deathly quiet. Someone used the hand dryer, there was quiet chatter interspersed with silence. I held my breath.

‘Gimme that,’ someone said. Laughter followed by spray-can sounds.

‘Wang is better than Doolan.’

I was in Mrs Wang’s form but I had no idea who was speaking. Now that I’d waited those extra moments I couldn’t come out of the cubicle. I’d been too quiet; it was obvious I wasn’t in there to use the toilet.

‘Liz says Scrutton is the best form teacher. He lets you do anything as long as you don’t bother him.’

‘There are four new girls in our form, including two scholarship students. That’s a lot, right?’

‘It’s so funny how we’re not supposed to know who the charity cases are.’

‘God—so obvious. Can I borrow some?’

‘First,’ the loudest voice said, ‘there’s the uniforms. Second-hand and huge. And also the shoes, those ugly Mary Janes they recommend even though no one wears them.’

‘To be fair, some Year Sevens have them.’

‘Secondly,’ the lead hyena continued, ‘they’re such try-hards. They join literally everything—orchestra, choir, volunteer squad, debating…’

‘But they have to be good at everything or they’ll lose their scholarships. And then where would they be? Back in the ghetto.’

‘I feel sorry for them,’ a new voice says. ‘No one has told them yet how shit Balmoral is.’

There was laughter before the bell rang, and everyone cleared out.

I waited until the bathroom was quiet, already worried about being late to Maths. I was sure I was alone, but when the door swung open, Yin was there, a Ventolin puffer in her hand.

We looked at each other in the long mirror that stretched from window to wall. Me in my too-big uniform, carrying my new textbooks, a highlighted map of the school sitting on top. My face was bright red in some parts and ghost-white in others. Tears had made two obvious tracks down my cheeks.

Yin handed me some paper towel.

‘I think we had English together first period. Do you need help finding your next class?’ she asked.

I shook my head.