On cue, Sarah yells, ‘Someone proper famous! I want you to know that. Not D-list famous. And I’ve got to get this done this year, or by the end of summer, at the latest.’

Both have started early on the vodka, way too early in my humble opinion.

Ally loses steam and slumps to her knees, burying her face in the covers. ‘We shouldn’t have to make bucket lists at our age. It’s depressing.’

She pauses then adds, because Marley has been on antidepressants all year, ‘Sorry Marls, I didn’t mean that.’

‘No probs.’ Nothing much touches Marley. She keeps scrolling on her iPad. In between scrolls she grabs a Tim Tam from an open pack. Ally and Sarah ignore the biscuits, because they’re in a yearlong competition to see who can eat the least.

‘If you want to try pot, I think I know someone who can get some,’ Marley offers.

I feign surprise. ‘Your parents make you pay?’

‘Ha ha.’ Marley throws a Tim Tam at my head, and misses.

Marley’s parents are rock-and-roll royalty without actually being musicians. They own practically this whole factory block—the warehouse, the rehearsal rooms and the recording studios—and for all we know maybe they do deal pot on the side.

I smooth on more BB cream to cover the red marks on my chin. Too much of my brain is taken up with wondering why the media is calling him Doctor Calm. It’s a messed-up name—it makes me think of surgery masks and bright lights and big syringes.

‘Why’ve you got so much eyeliner on? You look like that goth from Art.’ Sarah tries to hand me the vodka bottle but I wave it away.

Marley’s makeup is spread all over the vanity. Her mum buys the expensive stuff, the kind that comes with toiletry bags full of free gifts. Usually Sarah is in charge of eyes, because she’s got the steadiest hand, but she’s already too smashed. Her lipstick is wonky, but I don’t plan on pointing that out to her.

Sarah pushes Ally’s feet away from her. ‘When are you going to change those?’

‘They’re my good-luck socks,’ Ally protests. ‘I can’t take them off, they could be the only thing keeping me alive.’

‘Well, just so you know, you’re killing me with the smell.’

My makeup inspiration for the evening is: Teen Crystal Warrior Queen. I’ve used about five different types of highlighter to achieve the Opal clan’s updated look. ‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ I say mildly. It’s embarassing to go around looking the same as your friends anyway. I leave the zip on my stolen satin jacket at half-mast to maximise my boobs. Nice.