“Amusing,” Mrs Taylor says.
“It’s a riddle!” Jack grins.
I’m well aware that Jack’s being a bit of a knob, but right now I’m just grateful he’s pulling the focus to him, so fewer people are looking at me.
Mrs Taylor ignores him. “You can form your own group since everyone else is already in one – there are some paper and pens over there.”
“Due north.” Jack nods. “I’m getting the hang of this.”
Jack bounces over to the far corner, where there’s a huge sheet of blank paper on the floor, about three metres long and two metres wide, as well as a load of marker pens. I keep my head down and shuffle after him, feeling the heat of everyone’s eyes. I’m deliberately trying not to see where Tariq or Dylan are, and I’m not sure if it’s the stress from everyone looking, or the panic that Tariq and Dylan might be right next to where our spot is, or if it’s connected to the door hitting me, or maybe it’s all of the above, but a tiny bit of blood trickles out of my nose.
“MISS!” Jack gasps, seeing me. “Nate’s bleeding!”
“I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Miss, he’s haemorrhaging blood! I’ll take him to the nurse!” He’s gripping my arm and pulling me back the way we came. “It’s OK, we can catch up—”
But Mrs Taylor is having none of it. She’s a secondary school teacher: she knows the difference between a genuine emergency and teenage histrionics. “Just sit down, I’m sure it’ll stop.”
“But, miss—”
“Jack,” Mrs Taylor warns.
Jack sighs and goes back towards our piece of paper, while I dab at my nose with a tissue. I got through five years at this school by keeping my head down and being as invisible as possible. Now, in the space of forty-eight hours, it feels like I’ve become a circus act and my whole body is just filled with dread. I flop down on the floor and keep my head bowed, trying to shut everyone out, not daring to glance up in case the first eyes I meet are those of Tariq or Dylan.
“First task,” Mrs Taylor announces to the whole group, “is to create the perfect sixth former! One of you lies on the sheet of paper and your partner will draw around you. Then, together, I want you to fill in the body shape with the words and phrases you feel embody the perfect sixth form student – for example, you might pick ‘hard-working’ as one quality. As many as you can, twenty minutes – off you go!”
There’s an immediate hum of activity as everyone starts to get on with it, although by the sounds of the suggestions already being made by the groups nearest us (“Fit!” “Sexy!” “Goes to second base on a first date!”), I’m not sure everyone quite understands the point of the exercise.
“Lie down, then,” Jack tells me.
“You lie down.”
“I can’t risk you getting marker pen on this hoodie,” Jack says. “It’s vintage, and I’m not being funny, but you’re literally dressed all in black, like some sort of angel of death, so even if I did get some pen on you, which I won’t because I’ve got a really steady hand – literally, I could be an actual surgeon if I was taking the right A levels – it won’t show up anyway.”
I briefly wonder where Alfie, Connie and Luke are, and whether I could work with them, but I simultaneously don’t want to look (in case I accidentally see Tariq and Dylan) and can’t be bothered with the hassle from Jack if I go and work with someone else. “Fine.” I lie down on the sheet of paper.
Jack selects a pink marker pen, because of course he does, and sets to work, starting at my head and working round my left side, carefully moving the pen around the fingers of my left hand, then back up my arm, down my side, right down my left leg, around the left foot, then up again, until…
“How do you want me to deal with your crotch area?” Jack asks.
“I don’t want you to ‘deal’ with it at all, thanks.”
“So, do you want some approximation of genitals, or shall I go full eunuch?”
“Just be vague,” I hiss.
He manoeuvres the pen up my left thigh and I close my eyes because I really cannot deal with this right now. At least the giggles emanating from the other groups suggest I’m not alone in this hideousness. Jack must have nearly finished drawing when I hear a,
“We need to talk!”
I open my eyes and Dylan is looming over Jack, deadly serious, while Jack is still on his knees with the pen. “There’s a rumour that you’ve got lice?” Dylan says. “So, were you going to say anything? I mean, that would be the adult thing to do.”
I can practically see the steam coming out of Jack’s ears. “Adult?” he says. “Oh my god. First of all, how dare you? Second of all—”
“So where d’ya get lice from? ’Cause it wasn’t from me.”
“Well, how can we be sure? It’s not as if our relationship was monogamous, as far as you were concerned.” He glares at Dylan. “Also, I don’t have lice. I probably should have said that bit first because it doesn’t sound convincing as an afterthought.”
“OK, well, I heard you did and you were asking to see the school nurse, so that seems weird.”
“OK, well, maybe you should try not getting your information from twelve-year-olds.”
“If you’ve given me lice, I will actually kill you. Not metaphorically, actually, literally kill you.”
“Just give me fair warning so I can make sure there’s something glamorous I can die on nearby – a chaise longue or sweeping staircase, perhaps.”
“Screw you.”
“Again?” Jack retorts.
Dylan gives him the finger and stomps off.
“Just to confirm, I don’t have lice!” Jack repeats, loud enough for half the room to hear.
All I
