The room was silent in anticipation as Anne swirled her hand in the bowl, and Claire watched as her fingers clutched a piece of paper and handed it to Charlotte’s outstretched hand. She read it, before grinning, and put it in her shirt pocket.

‘So,’ announced Charlotte to the group. The girls looked up at her, expectant. ‘The challenge is this: you have to ask, and go on a date with…’

Charlotte paused dramatically, the tension in the room palpable.

‘…PAUL JONES!’

There was a brief moment of silence before the room exploded into laughter. Charlotte indulged them for a minute before holding up her hand for silence.

‘You have a week to ask him and go out with him…’ More sniggers. ‘Annnnnddddd,’ drawled Charlotte, ‘you have to kiss!’

The girls shrieked so loudly Claire felt herself smiling in response.

Go out with the school swot? Well, that wasn’t too bad. She would ask Paul to go to the pictures with her, one kiss in the dark and that would be that. Sorted. She would ask him tomorrow.

‘And then… welcome to the Queen Bees, my friend!’ finished Charlotte. The room was in uproar as everyone cheered and clapped, the light bouncing off their silver bracelets, and Claire felt herself get pulled into the energy of their group.

13

Paul kicked the stone moodily against the wall of his house thinking about his first day back at school. It had been even worse than he’d imagined. The stench of burning polyester still hung in his nostrils and Paul felt the charred residue of shame. He’d been in chemistry class when it had happened, Mr Simmons the teacher having left the room to get some more supplies.

Paul was just about to lift the test tube into the flame of a Bunsen burner when he saw the flash of school uniform move and grab him from behind. It was Dillon, one of Gavin’s gang, who held him by the arms while Kev had yanked Paul’s school tie and put it in the flame of the Bunsen burner, forcing Paul’s face close to the open flare. He could see the electric-blue nucleus of the fire and the heat pressed horrifyingly on his eyeballs. Just before he’d squeezed his eyes shut, he watched as the burner curled the tie, a black mark spreading across the material towards him.

As Paul felt his skin start to singe, a sharp whistle signalling Mr Simmons’ arrival flew across the room and Kev released him quickly, boomeranging Paul upright. He saw Barry, who must have been guarding the classroom door, Kev and Dillon run back to their workbench. Mr Simmons returned to a classroom full of studious bent heads, none the wiser. Paul had sat down on his stool, shaking. What would have happened if Simmons hadn’t come back when he had? Paul felt fear crawl in his throat. None of his classmates had intervened.

Cowards.