I try to imagine what they’ll think of me when I walk into the room. What will they see? A short girl with heaps of freckles who wears hand-me-down shorts over leggings? Now I have a head full of doubts, just like Bridge. Am I smart enough? Am I nice enough? Will I sleep through my alarm?

A screaming beep interrupts my thoughts. Confused, I look up. The kitchen is filling with black smoke.

For a second I’m stuck on the couch, glued to my cushions. Then I snap into action. I rush to the window and try to open it, but it takes a couple of goes to force the latch across. I dash to the front door and open that, too, but the smoke is getting thicker. Running into the kitchen, I see that smoke is escaping from the top of Mum’s pot. The chilli must have dried out and stuck to the bottom of the saucepan. I flick the gas off and use a tea towel to shift the lid across. Smoke billows into my face, making me cough.

The alarm keeps up its incessant beeping. I have to shut it off. It’s on the ceiling above the couch. I grab a spoon from the kitchen drawer and dash back through the smoke to the lounge. The alarm is deafening, and I clutch my left ear, trying to block some of the noise out as I jump onto the couch. I reach up towards the button on the alarm, but the spoon just waves wildly in the air. I’m too short for this.

‘Clem?’ yells a voice.

I look over to the doorway and see a hazy bright green shape through the smoke.

‘Maggie?’

‘Give me the spoon!’ she shouts over the noise.

She bustles in and snatches it from my hand, joining me on the couch. She jabs the spoon up, and it almost touches, but she can’t reach the button, either.

‘You have to spot me,’ she says loudly.

‘What?’

‘Hold my leg and make sure I don’t fall,’ she says as she lifts one leg onto the back the couch. The couch has a flat edge, so it shouldn’t be that hard to balance on it. I hope.

I crouch down and grab her leg. Her calf muscle tenses as she balances. When she steps her other foot onto the back of the couch, I hold that leg, too, aware that if she falls it’ll be my fault. I feel her legs pull as she stretches up and stabs at the button on the smoke alarm, cutting the sound so the flat suddenly becomes eerily quiet.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘You trying to burn the place to the ground?’ she says, climbing down from the back of the couch.

‘No. Mum is.’