“Doesn’t she?” Heather agreed. This was the first time we were fully assembled in our group fancy dress, and we all squealed at how awesome we looked. Heather’s tutu wafting up and down as she jumped in the air. My door went again, and Monique entered wearing a cheerleading outfit and balancing drinks on her arm.

“I’ve got shots...oh my God, you guys look AMAZING,” she almost dropped her tray of Sourz Apple.

Heather pointed to one of her ballet shoes. “He’s a punk, I do ballet, what more can we say?”

“I can’t cope. This is too good. Oh my God, I have to take a photo.” Monique carefully put the tray down on my cluttered desk, and took out her tiny digital camera. “Right, cram together. Danny, you go in the middle, as you’re the Skater Boi.”

Danny pulled me into his side, his hand snaking around my waist, setting every atom of my skin on fire, tickling me to make me smile.

“Say ‘TEENAGE KICKS,’” Monique said, holding her camera up to her eye.

“TEENAGE KICKS,” we chanted. And, maybe it was wishful thinking, but Danny took a while to let me go.