All the trees have been planted in a circle and carved into chairs so we can sit down as an audience. The trees have lots of rings on the bark. That means they’re old. You can tell the age of a tree by the number of rings. I look at the tree opposite more closely. It can’t be. A symbol. Unmistakeable. . The infinity sign. The sign of MC2’s tattoo. And it isn’t just one tree that has it. It’s three!

We sit in a circle like we’re going to leap but we don’t hold hands. The fire is in the middle and it’s not raining. This is fun. I like the smell of the smoke and the spitting noise the fire makes when you put logs on it. Not that we’re allowed to put anything on the fire. Le Temps does that.

At 7 p.m. exactly, MC2 appears at the edge of the circle. He’s wearing the same outfit he wore to our school, the top and jeans with writing on.

‘Greetings to The Round,’ he says.

He leads a voice warm-up. We have to say our names, then everyone claps the rhythm of the name. When I say Elle Bíbi-Imbelé Ifíè, some people get it wrong.

Then he says he’s going to drop a rhyme about storytelling. When he was in school, everyone said he had no imagination. But he thinks he’s got the best imagination of all.

‘Cos I had the A the D the H and the D, peeps made fun of me. Had to magic a better world. Had to write my own story.’

Big Ben puts up his hand.

‘What if you can’t write but you liked writing numbers?’

‘It don’t matter,’ says MC2, ‘whether it’s words, numbers, pictures, symbols. x+y=z. Beginning, middle, end. Whether it’s writ or spit, it’s still lit. Literature hatched on the lip. Story’s about sequence. Chronology. Repetition.’

I put up my hand. ‘Is that why you called it Twice Upon a Time?’

‘Yeah. The best stories got echoes, chimes, doubles. Leaps an’ Annuals like that spit.’

We all look at Mrs C Eckler, wondering how she’s going to react. But she’s just staring at MC2 like she’s hypnotised. It’s OK for MC2 to swear because he’s a tutor but we’re not allowed, even though it’s outside school. Le Temps is nodding his head like he likes the swearing. MC2 disappears, appears on the spot.

‘Rite o’ Passage,’ he says, ‘is how the best tales hang. Most of you just gone 2-leaps to 3-leaps. Some just done your first fast-forward in the deep blue. When you do something big you ain’t done before, that’s Rite o’ Passage.’

Big Ben puts up his hand again.

‘What if you can’t write?’