I’m making this all up, obviously, just because in a dream I can! People start to snigger, then I feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning round, I see Jonah Bell and his expression is furious. ‘Did you say something?’ he growls.

I’m fearless and loving every second.

‘Yes I did, you big lump,’ I say, right in his face. ‘You’re stupid and the only reason anyone hangs out with you is that they’re even stupider than you!’

People are starting to laugh now, and the feeling of power is terrific. I can say exactly what I want, to whoever I like! I push between some Year Fives on their bench and use it as a step up on to the table, kicking aside some plates and cutlery as I do so. They fall to the ground with a loud clatter and smash, so that everyone who hasn’t yet noticed the commotion turns round to see where the noise is coming from.

That’s when I see Susan Tenzin on the other side of the hall, with a gaggle of her orchestra friends. Her hand is held to her mouth in horror. I’m still stinging from her calling me a snob the other day, so now is the chance to get even in a safe way.

‘See this?’ I yell at her. ‘Do you and your perfect friends have enough to laugh at now?’

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mr Springham get to his feet over in the corner where the staff sit.

‘You don’t scare me-ee!’ I say in a singsong voice to Mr Springham, pointing at him and dancing a little jig on the table, dislodging more plates. People have stopped laughing now and are sitting open-mouthed in amazement.

I remember Seb’s insults to Adolf Hitler, and I reckon I’ll have a go myself.

‘You’ve hated me since I came into the school, haven’t you? Well, the feeling’s mutual, you … you great baldie spud-head with your too-tight shirts and your wobbly bum!’

This gets a proper gasp. It is just like being onstage as I look down at the faces gazing up at me.

‘Enough! Get down now!’ shouts Mr Springham. He’s only a couple of tables away and from the table I pick up a bowl of school trifle. I mean to throw the trifle and bowl so that it lands perfectly on his head: upside down, like it would in a cartoon, but it slips from my fingers and I watch – almost in slow motion – as the whole thing sails through the air and he bats it away with his arm. The trifle splats up his sleeve and some splashes the side of his face. It’s not a direct hit, which is a bit disappointing for a dream, but I’m having too much fun to care.

This time the crowd groans in amazement: a loud, ‘Oooooh!’