With whoops of joy and congratulatory chants ringing in their ears, Michelle led her down the shallow steps and out on to the parking apron at the front of the school. Even here, friends were hugging each other before running in the direction of home to share their success, while others jumped into waiting cars, where parents sat with engines ticking over before enveloping their offspring in tight hugs of delight. Everyone seemed to be screaming with happiness. The noise was loud in her ears and the air thick with an oppressive energy. She looked at the eager faces of her peers, all keen to announce the grades that would mean a ticket out of here – the first step towards making their dreams come true.

A ticket she did not possess because she was simply not as smart as she had thought.

Bessie’s confidence was haemorrhaging from her. Of course, there might be a way to get the grades, resit the exams possibly, but it was more than that – Bessie had thought she was clever and capable of travelling the world . . . but her results had brought her to an abrupt halt and made her think otherwise.

Michelle put an arm around her shoulder. ‘So come on, what did you get? It can’t have been that bad, Bessie.’

Bessie shook her head, tears stuck like a plug of salt at the back of her nose and throat.

‘I got . . .’ She couldn’t say it. ‘I did crap . . . I messed up . . . I . . .’

I had a head full of Lawrence. I haven’t studied properly for a couple of months – more interested in meeting him in the alleyway . . . I found it hard to concentrate . . .

‘Whatever you got, it doesn’t matter, not really. None of it does!’ Michelle applied the same kindly logic that Bessie had earlier when her friend had asked about her birthday gifts.

Bessie gave a wry smile. ‘And you did okay, one hundred and seventy-two?’ She didn’t really want to hear, knowing it would be another knife to swallow, but wanted to support her best friend.

‘Good enough, yeah.’ Michelle kept it vague, looking now at the grey paving slabs, warmed by the sun, anywhere but Bessie’s face. The small smile at the corner of her mouth and the sparkle to her eyes told Bessie she had done more than good enough. And she guessed at a handful of B’s and C’s. One hundred and seventy-two . . . What wouldn’t she give right now for one hundred and seventy-two?

‘Come on.’ Michelle tried to pick up the mood with her perky tone. ‘Let’s go via my house so I can tell my mum and dad, and then we’ll go to yours and—’

‘Actually, Michelle,’ she interrupted her friend, ‘I . . . I think I just want to go home on my own.’