LITMIR.BIZ

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time! How utterly wonderful!”

      Oh, sugar cookies. I really hope she’s not going to bring out the book I gave her. I don’t want my first introduction to the class to involve the word loo.

      “You guys,” she continues chirpily, waving a hand around. There are so many bracelets, she sounds like an enormous Slinky. “For those who haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her before, Harriet Manners has veritably boomeranged back after a glamorous adventure in Nooooo Yaawwwk!”

      I flush a little bit harder.

      “Apparently Americans eat more bananas than any other fruit,” I blurt anxiously. “And twenty-five per cent of them think the sun orbits the earth.”

      Oh my God. What is wrong with me?

      “Which isn’t why I came back,” I add quickly, the back of my neck starting to prickle. “I like bananas.”

       I like bananas.

      Yup. There are over a million words in the English language, and I chose those three in that particular order to impress a group of strangers.

      I am never reading a fact book again.

      The students in the class murmur “Hey, Harriet” while they try to make sense of me too.

      “Why don’t you plop yourself down there?” Miss Hammond says, pointing to a free seat. “We’re doing a team-building exercise first thing, so it’s perfect timing! You’re going to fit back in like a kitten in a straw basket full of other kittens. I can tell already.”

      Still blushing, I walk cautiously to the corner of the class and place my satchel on the floor. Then – trying not to notice the thirty-two eyes still following me – I take out my new folders: three colours with dividers for easier organisation.

      Followed by my new school diary and a set of biros.

      Five pencils, an eraser, three highlighters, glue, a hole punch, ruler and Post-its. A tape-dispenser and compass. A calculator and protractor.

      A full, rainbow-hued box of felt-tip pens. A traditional fountain-pen.

      With little ink-pot.

      Finally, I add a couple of shiny blank notepads with pictures of dinosaurs all over the front.

      What? I just really like being prepared, that’s all.

      When it’s all laid out neatly and at perfect right angles on my desk I feel much calmer again, so I fold my hands tightly on my lap and survey the slowly expanding class with a growing sense of excitement.

      I vaguely know some of them already.

      The two leads from the play last year are on opposite sides of the classroom: Christopher (Hamlet), sullen and still wearing a black polo-neck, and pretty Raya (Ophelia, obviously) with a glossy black ponytail, camel-like eyelashes and permanently pouted lips. I also recognise Eric, the school football captain, now slightly pirate-like with a shaved head and a gold hoop earring, and my old classmate Robert, who has apparently developed an interest in hair gel – the front of his hair looks like if he ran fast with his head down he could probably kill somebody with it.

      Two of Alexa’s key minions – Liv and Ananya – are seated together at the back: one with pale skin and a bleached white top-knot, the other with dark skin and a large, black high-bun. They’re wearing the same floral onesies in contrasting colours and are united by identical, intensely bored expressions.

      But much more excitingly, there are also at least a handful of faces I don’t recognise at all.

      Which one of these is going to be my new kindred spirit?

      The girl with pink glasses? She looks like she’s on first-name terms with her optometrist too. The girl with neon purple hair and a rainbow-coloured nose ring? I’m a big fan of bright colours too. How about the boy with freckles and a red bag? I, too, have freckles and a—

      OK, I think I might just be clutching at similarity straws now.

      Finally, almost every chair but the one next to me is taken.

      “Oh, shoot a hamster,” Miss Hammond says, slapping her head lightly with her wrist. “What a twit I am! I left the register in the staffroom.” She stands up and jingles a few times. “Back in two ticks, peeps.”

      And – in a whirlwind of orange and pink – our form teacher disappears into the corridor.

      The room immediately starts bubbling with noise again, and I cautiously start staring hard at individuals and then giving them my brightest, friendliest smile. The kind that says I can’t wait to ask you questions and then remember the details!

      A few of them actually smile back.

      You know what? I like sixth form already. People are glancing at me, but it doesn’t feel hostile.

      It feels curious; quizzical and interested.

      I can feel my entire body starting to relax.

      I was so right: this was exactly what I needed. A fresh start. A new beginning. The closure of an old page, and the opening of a new one. The unfolding of a different story.

      Except it isn’t.

      Because, just as I’m congratulating myself on making such an excellent – albeit fruit-enthused – first impression, the classroom door opens again. And in walks the Captain Hook to my Peter Pan; the Voldemort to my Potter.

      The Cruella De Vil to my hundred spotted puppies.

      Alexa.

      

      o.

      

      o no no no no no.

      

       O NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NONONONONONONO NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO NONO.

      

      f you yelled for one year, seven months and twenty-six days, you would produce enough sound energy to heat one cup of tea. Hook up my brain right now and I should be able to boil ten in three seconds flat.

      This can’t be happening. It can’t be.

      Alexa isn’t doing any of the same subjects as me. She has a totally different schedule: English, History, Geography. I was sure she had a different form room. I rang and checked with Mrs O’Connor to confirm that I’d been moved to another class, just in case.

      And emailed. Five times. With a supporting text.

      I thought I was finally

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