I spit the white foam into the sink and rinse. My stomach heaves with nerves and hunger and all sorts of fear.

Mum is waiting by the front door. I can’t read her expression. She leans forward like she’s about to kiss me, but I step back because I’m just not ready for any more firsts today.

‘See ya, Mum,’ I say, using my words like a shield.

‘Bye, Clem.’

I go into the stairwell knowing that, behind me, Dad will probably be whispering something to Mum. He comes out a few seconds later with my backpack. Now I’m really not sure about him driving me. It doesn’t seem like a good beginning, but it’s too late to change my mind. We walk down the stairs together and, as we reach the street, I see someone coming after us with a familiar slouchy walk and backpack that doesn’t make him look like he’s carrying the world.

‘You getting the bus?’ Matt says to me. His hair isn’t hanging quite as low on his face and he seems nervous, too.

‘Nah. Dad’s dropping me this morning.’

I’m aware of Dad looking between us, trying to work out who this guy is, and I realise I haven’t introduced them. ‘Dad, this is Maggie’s nephew, Matt.’

‘Oh, hi,’ says Dad, stretching out his hand to shake Matt’s.

‘Hi,’ says Matt, sounding smaller and quieter than usual.

‘Do you want a lift, too?’ I say without thinking, but perhaps I want him there as a distraction so that Dad and I don’t have to talk seriously about ‘things’ all the way to school.

‘Sure, if that’s okay?’

Dad nods. ‘Course.’

We walk in single file to our car spot at the front of the flats. It’s like we’re all so lost in our own heads that we haven’t quite got it together to make conversation. I go to sit in the front and then stop. Maybe I should get in the back because Matt’s taller than me. But he climbs into the back before I can suggest it.

Usually I’d flick on the radio as soon as the car starts, but music doesn’t feel necessary this morning.

‘Are you living with Maggie now?’ Dad asks.

‘Yeah,’ says Matt.

I wait for Dad to ask him why, and for Matt to invent a reason. But he doesn’t. Instead he asks, ‘And what year are you going into?’

‘Year nine.’

‘Great. I remember year nine. I made a wooden pencil box in woodwork and a ceramic dinosaur, which exploded in the kiln, in pottery.’

Matt laughs and the sound is friendlier than I expected. ‘Well, I look forward to that. Sounds better than maths and English.’