So on my first day I barely paid attention to my classmates. At lunchtime I sat slightly apart from them so that their conversation wouldn’t distract me from reading. My friendships with them were warm enough but I had always managed to hold them at a little distance – I wasn’t keen on any of them wanting to come to my house – so it wasn’t hard to quietly withdraw even further. I noisily munched an apple to white-out the sound of their plans: social events, familial machinations, trysts and dramas.

I was reading my English homework. English was the problem. I wished I didn’t have to take English. English was the subject least under my control. How I scored in maths and the sciences would be a direct reflection of how much work I did. But English . . . English was the subject that was most unpredictable, most like life, most like other people.

So then, there I was, after lunch, in my first English class for the year, already worried that this would be the subject that would let me down. And there was Nassim, sitting next to me, talking with his friend on the other side, until he turned to me, looked at me, and then held out his hand and said, ‘Hi, I’m Nassim,’ and then, still holding my hand, he lowered his head to look up into my face, and a frown flickered on. ‘And you’re worried?’

And I laughed. That’s what I remember most about that first day, that he made me laugh straight away. And I said, ‘Yes, actually. But my friends call me Anna.’

‘Ah.’ He let go of my hand. ‘Because that’s your name,’ he said.

‘Yes.’ I laughed again.

‘That makes sense.’ He nodded seriously. ‘So, worrying. That doesn’t seem like much fun.’

‘No.’

‘About?’

I gestured to the front of the room, to the board, to the general surrounds. ‘English,’ I said.

‘Ah,’ he said again. ‘Why?’

‘Medicine,’ I said.

He leaned back in his chair with a sharp intake of breath through his teeth. ‘I see.’ He nodded sagely. ‘Medicine.’

‘Yes, Bachelor of Medicine.’

He appeared thoughtful for a moment, and looked to the ceiling for inspiration. Then he frowned, puzzled.

‘But I’ve seen you,’ he said, ‘every year, up there on that stage at assembly, getting all your Outstanding Achievement for Being Brilliant at Everything awards, with everyone in the seats around me bitching about how much they hate you, and me in thorough agreement –’

‘Yes, but English is different.’

‘How so, Anna Krause?’

The use of my full name caught me off-guard. ‘Well, Mr Nassim surname-as-yet-unknown, because maths and sciences are controllable. English relies on unreliable things, like insight, and sensitivity, the subjectivity of language, the ability to effectively and appropriately articulate an idea – what? What are you laughing at?’

And he was laughing, lovely creases forming at the corners of his eyes.

‘Because I think you’ll be just fine.’

‘I’m not sure what you’re basing that on, Mr –?’