‘Today is special. Here at the Time Squad, we drink a toast to time and we eat this cake to acknowledge our rare Gift. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, please raise your glasses . . . TO TIME.’

‘To Time!’ we say in unison.

‘1 minute, 20.95736793 seconds,’ says Big Ben, meaning the length of Millennia’s speech.

They play the song ‘Celebration’, which came out in 1980. In 1980, the Olympics were in Moscow and America boycotted them, so Allan Wells won the 100 metres in 10.25 seconds, the slowest time in modern history. Allan Wells was 28 years old, really old for a sprinter. His wife was his trainer. I watched his race online 100 times.

Some of the teachers start dancing on the rugs. Season begins to cut the ‘two’ cake and Mr C Eckler helps serve everybody. It’s the best cake I ever tasted. I’m going to make one when I get back to 2020 and celebrate with Grandma. I think she would like it. Big Ben eats three pieces but nobody minds. It’s a very big cake.

Big Ben asks me to go to a midnight feast but I say no because midnight feasts are forbidden and we’re not allowed in the boys’ chalet. He shows me all the food he’s smuggled from the barbecue. It’s mainly steak in white rolls. I think he’s still wanting to guess what it is, to get a ride in the Ferrari, so maybe they’ll do that at midnight. Even though they’ll be breaking the rules, I don’t blame them for having their own party. After all, we only celebrate our birthdays once every four years. Four years is a long time to wait before the next celebration. Why not make the 29th of February last as long as possible?

Chapter 11:00: The Red Hat

Chapter 11:00

THE RED HAT

Big Ben, Ama and I are in The Beanstalk having breakfast whilst everyone else is still in bed. Season’s set up breakfast, apologised and gone to lie down in the Common Room. Ama likes what she calls the Human Touch, home-cooked food served by a real person. At her school, it’s all done by robots. You get assigned one but never see it. You text your order in advance and collect it from a hatch in the wall. The food lacks soul. But the worse thing’s when your robot’s having a bad day.

‘Texts me stuff like DON’T EAT FISH AND CHIPMUNKS. FISH ARE FORBIDDEN AND CHIPMUNKS ARE FULL OF FAT. I block it some days. Once it put gravy on my sponge pudding. Probably revenge.’

‘So they’re like a person?’ I think of Mange-Tout slapping meat onto the barbecue.

‘Yeh. And no. Hates being ignored. Strange thing is,’ she puts her head to one side, ‘I’m missing them.’