I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. Wisps of smoke from the barbecue twirl around in the air. The smell is strong and meaty, making me feel hungry. I wish I’d brought snacks. Next door, there’s a dog chasing a boy around in circles and a little girl hanging from a Hills Hoist, squealing for somebody to spin her. I wait for someone to notice me, a silhouette on the flat roof, but nobody’s looking. I’m like a bird, up high in the canopy of a tree, only seen when I move or make a sound. I lie back on the hard ridges. The stars are just starting to wink free and the moon is a thin slice.

This is my rooftop.

A few streets away Bridge is probably having dinner. Maybe Ellie’s with her. Maybe they’re talking about me.

My phone rings in my back pocket and I reach around to slide it out.

‘Hi, Dad,’ I say.

‘Clem? Where are you?’ His voice sounds hard.

‘Oh, just went for a run.’

I can hear Mum speaking in the background, but her words are fuzzy. I wonder if she’s telling him what to say.

‘It’s dark, Clem. I’ll come and get you. Where are you?’

‘Nowhere,’ I say, looking at a plane flying overhead, its lights flashing colour in the sky. I wonder if it’s arriving or leaving.

‘Clem,’ says Dad sharply.

‘Yeah?’

‘Where are you?’

‘At our house,’ I blurt out.

I hear him breathe. Sharp in and sharper out. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

And he’s gone.

He wouldn’t find me up here, if I stayed low and kept out of sight. But I don’t want to tell him about rooftopping. I even lied about losing my hoodie.

It’s not the same here all of a sudden. Dad’s phone call has changed the atmosphere. The clouds have wafted across and are covering all the best constellations. I decide that Matt’s wrong. Rooftopping on your own isn’t liberating; it doesn’t make it better because it’s for you. Right now it just feels lonely, like I’ve tried to run away but haven’t gotten any further than the roof.