I shrug. I only just got my laptop a month ago because I had to wait for the house insurance payout to come through. I haven’t really mastered how to use it yet, but I do know my codes.

I tap the keys, careful not to look at Bridge. I don’t want to see her face right now. I can’t believe I’ve been here for two hours, sorting her clothes, and she never said anything.

‘There …’ I see my name. Class 7F. I feel as if I might vomit.

‘Get them to move you.’

‘No. I can’t. Nat’s right. It’s not like primary school, where you can get your parents to go see the principal. It’s different, Bridge.’

She grabs my arm and tries to hold my hand but I pull away.

‘Don’t be cross with me, Clem. I was going to tell you. I just hadn’t worked out how.’

‘It’s fine. Whatever.’

But it’s not ‘fine’. And it’s not ‘whatever’. When I turn up for the first day of high school, I will be going into a class on my own. A thought jams into my head and makes my stomach swirl.

‘Does Ellie know?’

Bridge scoops up a t-shirt and starts picking at the pattern across its front.

‘Yeah,’ she says finally. ‘I texted her.’

‘You told her and not me!’

‘Clem, come on. It’ll be okay. We can find each other at lunchtime, remember?’

My legs are cramping. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Don’t go! We were going to watch Clueless and eat ice-cream from the tub.’

‘Sorry. Can’t.’ I have to get out of here. I charge towards the door, storming across the remaining clothes on Bridge’s floor.

‘Clem!’

But I’m gone.

Outside I shoot through the front gate like I’m sprinting at State. Running in thongs sucks, but today I don’t care. As long as my body starts moving as quickly as possible, I can find my rhythm.

Left. Right. Left. Right. My feet hit the concrete as fast as my heartbeat. I thunder past the corner shop, where Bridge and I always go for icypoles when I’m having a sleepover. It was the first place we walked to on our own. I remember how grown-up we felt with our gold coins pressed into our hands.

This is my old neighbourhood. The streets I used to explore with Dad. I take the corner fast. My t-shirt is sticking to my back and my legs are aching in their familiar way. But my arms keep powering along, fists punching forward to help me go faster. I know it’s not Bridge’s fault – I know she wanted to be in class with me – but it still hurts.