It’s art and we’re doing portraits. We have to turn round and draw whoever’s next to us. I’m glad I’m sitting next to Rob. Rob’s good at art, everyone says so. He has a set of professional pencils: soft ones for shading, hard ones for fine lines. Each one is sharpened to an evil little point, and none of the ends are chewed. On the sides there’s gold lettering: HB, B, 2B.

‘Posh pencils,’ I say. ‘New?’

‘Not really.’

‘Expensive.’

Rob selects a pencil from the tin and examines it. ‘They were a present.’ He digs the point into his finger, like he’s testing it. ‘From my dad.’

‘What for?’

He looks to the ceiling. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Your dad buys you presents for nothing?’

He reaches for his sketchbook. ‘I should be drawing you.’

It’s always hot in the art room. There’s plants and skylights and sweaty boys and it’s a bit like a greenhouse. I take my jumper off and arrange my silk-touch blouse over my tits, glad that Luke McNeill is on the other side of the room, having his sketchbook marked by the teacher.

Rob rolls up his shirt sleeves. I watch his knobbly wrists move as he starts to sketch me in.

‘Wish my dad would buy me stuff,’ I say.

Rob doesn’t respond. He’s frowning at his page. Then he frowns straight at me and I wonder if I should look away. But his eyes go back to the paper before I can blink.

‘You must get some presents,’ he says eventually.

I notice the way his gold chain snakes around the base of his long neck.

‘My mum’s boyfriend tries to buy me things.’ I give my hair a shake.

‘Keep still.’

‘He’d probably get me anything I wanted, actually.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like anything.’ I try to think of something. Simon still hasn’t given me my reward for our tutorials. ‘He gave me the money for my coat.’

Rob’s eyes settle on mine. ‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

‘Just giving you money. It’s different.’

‘I got the coat.’

Rob gives a little smile, like he’s sorry for me. ‘But he wouldn’t know what to get you unless you told him, would he?’

‘Maybe.’ I lick my lips, lean forward. ‘But did you really want those posh pencils?’

‘Not exactly…’

‘So your dad might as well have given you the cash.’

He shrugs. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’

‘They never know what you want,’ I say. ‘Money’s better.’

Rob drops his pencil back in the tin and picks up another. Again, he digs the end into the tip of his finger and stares at it. I can see the skin there going white. ‘They never ask what you want,’ he says in a quiet voice.

‘Aren’t you drawing me?’ Luke sits down with a loud huff.

‘He’s doing me,’ I say.