Skinny Luke McNeill moves towards Rob so I cut in, quick as I can. ‘Carry me, slowly,’ I say, touching the smooth sleeve of Rob’s jumper. I don’t know what makes me say it. It comes out before I’ve even thought.

Luke flicks back his wispy blond fringe and attempts to stick out his little chin. He’s the only boy in the class who gets away with wearing a polo neck, and it makes his face seem even longer, his cheekbones even higher. ‘Rob’s with me, Joanna.’

Rob bats his eyes, first at Luke, then at me. Those lashes make him look like someone in the centre of Smash Hits. For a minute I imagine him with staples in his flawless cheeks.

‘I’m with Joanna,’ he says, not looking at Luke but at me. I put my hands on my hips. I’m wearing a white plastic belt. Mum says that’s a fifties siren look, your waist all pulled in and a tight sweater.

Flowery-scarf comes over. ‘Good, Joanna, well done for working with someone new,’ she says, guiding Luke off by the shoulders.

Rob stands there staring after Luke. ‘Come on then,’ I say. ‘Carry me.’

I’m surprised when he actually lunges forward, hooks his arms underneath mine and lifts me. My armpits are sweaty, but I’m wearing plenty of Impulse. My tits squash against his chest and our noses almost meet. I can feel the heat of his face on my cheek.

‘Are you going to kiss me, then?’ I whisper.

He pretends not to hear, lets go, and drops me right on his toe.

‘Joanna will never trust you if you drop her like that,’ calls Flowery-scarf. I swear she winks at me as she says it.

Luke McNeill looks at us from the corner of the room, pulling the sleeves of his polo neck down over his fists.

I start to work Saturdays at Buggery Stores. I sit behind the counter and read magazines, take the money for fags and milk. Just Seventeen is usually spread on my lap. Old Mr Buggery would like to be there instead, of course. You should see him when I reach up to the top shelf for a packet of Dunhill. You’d need a trough to catch the drool. You can smell it too, something down there in his nylon trousers, giving off this nasty niff. I reach out one hand for the Dunhill and feel my polka-dot shirt riding up over my belly. Balancing on one leg, I stick an arse cheek in his direction, knowing he can see the bit where my tights go thin over my thighs.