Jason is still keen, keeping himself physically close whenever he can, moving his chair next to mine in the canteen, resting his knee at an angle that brushes my thigh, letting his hand touch mine when I walk past his desk. I don’t mind. At least he’s paying me some attention.

I’ve taken to eating everything Martha puts out for me so that she isn’t disappointed, then swallowing El’s pills afterwards or throwing up until it is purged from my body before any of it can lay down a base. My fingers tickling the back of my throat has become a familiar feeling and the emptiness afterwards worth the constant raw sting in my throat. I think it is working because I’m sure my jeans are feeling looser in the waistband, my stomach flatter. Not quite concave yet, but I can feel a difference. I’m sure of it. And that makes the discomfort and awful cramps easier to bear.

I forgot that we had a maths test yesterday, could feel panic inching up my spine, but a couple of little white pills swallowed hastily before the lesson and I was back in control, the test paper swimming in front of me as I tried to write something legible. I have vague recollections of writing smiley faces instead of numbers for some answers and making a pattern with the multiple choice answers – I’m sure the teacher will smile at that.

Or not. I don’t care.

Tracey has met me a couple of times, but her concern is now bordering on irritating. She asks me constantly if I’m ok, how I’m feeling, if I want to talk. I don’t. I wish I hadn’t told her any of it – and that I hadn’t invited her to the party. She phoned me last night, upset because her brother had had a tantrum and smashed some of her favourite records. She was saying that she shouldn’t be angry with him, but couldn’t help herself, that his tantrums have been worse lately and it is exhausting trying to pre-empt what is going to set him off. He is physically growing in strength too, which makes it harder to control him. He hit her mum when he was flailing his arms around. It left a bruise on her cheek.

I laughed. Probably shouldn’t have. I’ve had a few of those bruises. I told her I could give her mother some tips on covering it up with make-up.