Eloise is watching too, a smirk on her lips. “Come on, let’s go,” she says and steers me away.

*

Half an hour later and I am in a world of pain. I have to run from my maths class, claiming that I’m feeling sick. My stomach is in cramped knots, like an iron fist has hold of my intestine and is making a balloon animal out of it. I see the look of concern on Tracey’s face as I rush past her desk. I have avoided her all morning and hope she doesn’t follow me to the bathroom to check up on me.

I make it to the toilet in time and thankfully it is empty because what comes out of me is frightening in its intensity. The cramps slowly subside and by the time I stagger from the cubicle, I feel purged but weak. My stomach is already flatter though, even if my heart is hammering like I’m having a heart attack.

I leave the bathroom on shaky legs, but feeling in control for the first time since finding those letters. It is a powerful feeling.

The lesson is almost over when I return to the classroom. I ignore Tracey’s curious glance, but smile knowingly at Eloise, who winks back.

Tracey sits with her other friends at lunch, but I can feel her eyes on me across the canteen. I don’t look over. Brian and his friends come to sit at our table and I chat to Jason, the boy Eloise is trying to hook me up with, while ignoring the salad on my tray. He tries to make me laugh, but his jokes are lame, pathetic. I laugh anyway and notice how his smile widens when I do. I am making him happy just by pretending to like him.

That feeling of control grows. I assess the satisfying weight of it in my hands. Something I’ve not considered before. I move ever so slightly closer to him, let my knee rest against his and his cheeks flush. I smile to myself.

The bell rings and we file out. He is pressed up against my back in the queue out of the hall and I can feel his hand on my waist, light, tentative. It’s pathetic really. How easy it is to manipulate him. No wonder Eloise enjoys it so much. Pretending to be what they want you to be, the play-acting in return for adoration. It’s strangely compelling.

Tracey is waiting by my locker.

“Hey, you ok? How are you feeling?” She has concern all over her face. It wrinkles her brow and sits heavy in her eyes.

I shrug, avoid it. “Fine, just tired.”

“Just when I saw you rush out like that—”

“It was nothing, just felt a bit weird, that’s all.” My voice is sharper than I intended.