“He so is,” Steph agrees, as she does with everything Eloise says. Anything to be awarded the honour of walking in her shadow. I look at the three of them, clustered together with their identical hairstyles and matching clothes, and it hits me. What we must look like, sound like. Clones. Barbie dolls with no substance. Is that what I want? What I’m aiming for? What I will look like years from now? A vague shadow of a woman with a mid-afternoon alcoholic beverage in one hand, a cigarette burning down to the filter in the other and an empty brain rattling in my head like the last pill in the bottle? They stand in front of me, their eyes alight because a boy with a spotty forehead and a posh voice has winked at them.

I want to push through them and run screaming from the building.

But these are my oldest friends. El and I have been friends since the first day of school. It’s not their fault that I’m now feeling restless, itchy to get away from them, my parents, this village. Part of me wants to blame Tracey. A couple of hours in her company and it’s like she has come up to me with a mirror in her hand and made me look at myself for the first time.

And I don’t like what I see.

My teeth pull at the skin on my lip as I follow the three of them into the canteen. We line up, plastic trays in hand, El at the front as always. She grabs a drink, a yoghurt and an apple. Steph and Emily watch her, seeking silent permission for their own choices, pick up the same flavour yoghurt, the same sugar-free drink.

I look at the plates on offer, at the toasted cheese sandwiches and chips, my mouth watering, and I pick up a plate. I trail behind them to the same table we always sit at, right in the middle of the canteen, like we are the sun around which everyone else must rotate.

Eloise looks pointedly at my plate. “You’re not going to eat that, are you?”

“Well, I’m not planning to wear it.”

She glares at me. Steph and Emily sit open-mouthed.

“I’ve got my period, ok? I need something greasy,” I reply hastily.

El shrugs in response, but I can see her nose twitching and I bet her fingers are too, desperate to reach out and shove a handful of chips into her mouth.

The funny thing is I wouldn’t bat an eyelid if she did. I’d probably like her more.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Tracey walking around, her tray held in front of her like a shield.

Without thinking, I stand up and wave at her. “Tracey, sit here.”

El looks horrified, while Steph and Emily merely gape. “What the fuck are you doing?” El hisses at me.