I snap back to find Bridge looking at me strangely because she’s obviously been trying to introduce me to someone. ‘This is Saskia,’ she says.

Now I look at the girl properly and I notice her neon-pink shoes and that we are almost exactly the same height. It’s the girl I saw in the theatre this morning, the one I’d wanted to be in my class.

‘Hi,’ we both say.

And then the three of them start talking about their maths class. I immediately vague out again and think, I’ve never felt so alone.

Chapter 11

Mum is lying on the couch when I get home. She’s reading a book about plants and she’s wearing glasses. I’ve never seen her wear glasses before. She looks up quickly as I come in, like she’s been waiting all day for me.

‘How was it?’ She sounds so excited that I wish I could be, too.

I drop my bag onto the floor and rub my left shoulder. Mum swings her legs down from the couch and sits up. I try to gauge her expression, but her eyes seem different behind her glasses. I could tell her the truth, but then I’d also have to admit that I didn’t wait for Bridge and Ellie after school, that I bailed on them, that I haven’t answered any of their text messages or phone calls.

I opt for a vague response. ‘Fine.’

‘Fine fine or good fine?’

‘Just fine,’ I say, proud because I’ve managed to keep the emotion out of my voice. I head into the kitchen because I’m starving. What I really want is one of Maggie’s cakes or a hot loaf of bread.

‘If you’re hungry, honey, I can make you something.’ She follows me into the kitchen and I know she’s watching me for answers.

I open the fridge and stare in like I’m waiting for something delicious to pop out at me.

‘Did you make any new friends?’

Frustrated, I slam the fridge door as hard as I can and hear bottles of jam clinking against each other. The more Mum questions me the more exposed I feel. It’s not like I can tell her what a global disappointment it was. Then she’ll feel responsible and try to make me feel better. I don’t want to be vulnerable tonight. I just want to be angry at someone.

‘Hundreds.’

I wait for Mum to smile, delighted by my ability to be social. But instead she pushes her glasses up onto her head and makes a sympathetic face.

‘Tell me about your teachers,’ she says.

‘I’m going upstairs.’ I quickly head for the door.

‘Upstairs? We don’t have an upstairs,’ she says playfully.

‘To Maggie’s,’ I call out. I really don’t want to talk about school.