‘No. When you jog, nothing hurts. It’s easy. But when you run, you ache.’

He frowns and I see the chocolate brown of his eyes. Then he nods like he understands and I actually think he does.

‘And if you ache, then you don’t have to think. Right?’

I bite my lip. I hardly know this boy, but he gets it. Before I can answer him, my phone beeps.

‘Saved by the bell,’ he says lightly.

It’s Bridge telling me to come over and help her clean out her cupboards because she isn’t allowed out until it’s done. I’m sort of relieved she’s interrupted us. I might have had to answer his question.

‘Your friend?’

‘Yeah. I’ve gotta go.’

‘You haven’t answered me,’ he says, looking straight at me.

‘Do you know how to get back?’

He shrugs and spins round so he’s facing the direction we’ve just come from.

‘Me? I’m a regular homing pigeon,’ says Matt.

I watch him scuff away down the street.

‘See you round, Clem. Let me know when you’re ready to rooftop!’

Chapter 7

It’s taken two hours for us to sort most of Bridge’s clothes into three piles: a keep pile, a chuck pile and a pile for me to take home. It’s one of the few advantages of being considerably smaller than my friends – I always get their hand-me-downs. Today I’ve scored three pairs of leggings that Bridge has never worn, a pair of spotty shorts, an oversized mustard-coloured jumper, two t-shirts I might sleep in so I don’t have to use Mum’s, and a red puffer jacket that’s so thick it makes me look like a toadstool.

‘What about this?’ Bridge is holding up a stripy dress that has been worn so much it’s faded around the sleeves and the hem is starting to come down.

‘You can’t throw that out!’

‘You’re right.’ She happily tosses it onto the keep pile, then switches the topic to high school. ‘What are you going to wear on the first day?’

Our high school doesn’t have a uniform. I shrug, trying to fold a pair of overalls so they’ll fit back into the drawer.

‘I thought I’d wear either my denim shorts, sneakers with that orange-and-red patterned t-shirt you like, or my skins, or a skirt and Docs. But what if we have sport? Then I can’t wear my Docs.’ Bridge sighs.

‘Wear something comfy.’

‘I just want to look right,’ she says, sounding more concerned than I’ve ever heard her sound.

‘I told you, shorts and a t-shirt,’ says Bridge’s sister Nat, leaning in the doorway.

‘Docs or sneakers?’ Bridge asks.

I look at Nat, waiting for her to spew out some sarcastic comment, but she actually looks like she’s considering the answer quite seriously.