Kim held it between her fingers. “Aww thank you. You think it’s OK? It’s not too short? I got it done yesterday.”

“It’s lovely. Just like Amy’s new one.”

They both erupted into giggles.

“We’re basically twins,” Amy confirmed, apparently unbothered that her fringe needed patenting. “We even bought the same purple shrug from Topshop the other day, without knowing the other had got it.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Kim said. “Someone in McDonald’s the other day even asked if we were sisters.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? Ever since Tenerife, we’ve basically become the same person.”

I grimaced and looked down at my shiny black Kickers. It had been less than two minutes before Kim brought up their holiday to Tenerife. You’d have thought the two had been to WAR together. I reminded myself Amy was my best friend and had been my best friend since Year Seven. She was just tolerating Kim out of sympathy because she was needy since her parents got divorced. Nonetheless, I watched Kim thread her arm through Amy’s, so I pulled down my sleeve and threaded it through Amy’s other arm—our chain taking up the whole pavement.

“So, oh my God, Amy, do you remember Chris from Tenerife?” Kim started. “He was so fit. I can’t believe he thought it was weird that I smelled him in the queue for the breakfast buffet. It was so embarrassing...and that night with the karaoke! I was so drunk from that Bacardi Breezer Mum got us.”

Amy shrieked with cliquey nostalgia, while Kim watched her every reaction. It occurred to me both of us had been counting down to this day. Me, to find out if I could manage school without suicide ideation. And Kim, wondering if she’d be demoted to “spare wheel friend” once more. I was still reeling from the fact that I’d wanted to die only ten minutes previously. Now I was contemplating if it was worse to a) die, or b) not have Amy as my best friend anymore.

I slowed a bit as we turned onto our school’s road. “How are you feeling?” Amy asked. “Are you scared?”

“I’m OK. I just don’t want everyone to stare at me.”

“They won’t,” Kim barged in. “I reckon everyone’s forgotten about it over summer.”

I was unconvinced. “Hmm.”

Amy patted my back. “You have us by your side, remember? I will literally fight anyone who dares stare at you. Unless they’re staring at how fit you got over summer, of course.”

I laughed. “Unlikely.”

“Definitely. Your hair’s grown so long. It looks gorgeous.” She pulled out a long strand of strawberry blonde, holding it up like a mustache, and I giggled.

That was how reassurance between girls worked, aged thirteen onward—when a friend’s troubles were too huge, you offered up a compliment about their appearance as a distraction.