As I get back to the centre side of the field, I see Le Temps waving at me. I don’t wave back. I keep on running. He’s broken the spell. I was in the zone and now my brain starts thinking again. Thinking about Kwesi and Noon and Season and GMT and Big Ben and Ama and Le Temps and Robert Beamon jumps. Now he’s shouting, so I have to think about why he’s shouting. Then I realise everyone else has gone in. I’m the only one still outside. Le Temps’s tracksuit is totally wet. He looks at me with dead-fish eyes.

‘Do you understand the word stop, Elle? What is it with you?’

‘I was in the zone.’

‘Well, the zone is now the Common Room. If you’re not there in two minutes, I’ll . . .’ He looks up to the sky and blinks against the rain. ‘Give you detention.’

‘This isn’t school, it’s Leap 2048,’ I say, and his mouth curves up at the edges but I don’t think he’s happy. He rolls his eyes clockwise.

‘Indeed,’ he says. ‘Indeed.’

I don’t like the way he’s staring at me like he’s laughing at me, so I run inside to the Common Room.

I enjoy watching the storm. It’s like a film of a storm when you’re inside and can’t feel the rain. We’re watching it through the big glass windows that look out onto the field. The sheet lightning makes the grass look like cartoon grass, bright with black edges. Then the thunder comes. Then lightning and thunder at the same time. I feel like the storm’s in my head. Maria starts crying. I never knew she hated storms. I wish Mrs C Eckler was here to look after her. I’m scared she’s going to reach 10 in panic. Le Temps’s eyebrows drop to his eyes like rainclouds.

We’re all sprawled across seats and beanbags and the big circular rug in the Common Room. GMT’s back. Her hair’s dry so she must have been indoors somewhere. I wonder where she went. Le Temps has given up trying to teach us anything. But he’s not allowed to leave us all on our own. Even he keeps some of the rules.

Even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think. Maria’s crying louder now. GMT’s trying to comfort her with a cuddle but not doing a very good job. Maria says something in Portuguese like she does when she’s angry. But this time she’s scared. I put my hands over my ears. Her crying’s making my heart pound. Le Temps suddenly stands up, rigid as a statue like Big Ben does when he’s gone from 0 to 10.

‘Shut up! It’s only a storm!’