All around Polly, witches and warlocks are making their way back to class.

As Polly’s head clears, she looks at Malorie. Even though Malorie is smiling and holding her hand out towards her, Polly sees, quite clearly, that Malorie is not her friend.

Not really. Not a true friend.

Buster is her friend. Buster, who is kind and lovely and likes Polly no matter what. True friends don’t care two hoots about magical pens, or being famous or popular. And they would never make you pretend to be someone you’re not.

Polly suddenly has the sinking feeling that by choosing Malorie, she has broken her very best friend’s great big heart in two.

Her hands shaking, Polly slowly unpins the badge on her chest. She knows Malorie is watching as she turns the badge upside down and pins it back on her uniform.

The ‘W’ is now an ‘M’.

‘What are you doing?’ Malorie says, her mouth dropping open in horror.

‘I’m a friend of monsters,’ Polly says, sounding calmer than she feels. ‘And if that’s not OK with you, I’m afraid we can’t be friends.’

She takes Malorie’s beautiful mood pen out of her pocket and holds it out.

‘What are you talking about?’ Malorie hisses, her eyes flitting from side to side.

Students are stopping on their way back to class to watch this small spectacle.

‘Monsters are bad. They are noisy and smelly and they hurt witches,’ insists Malorie.

‘No,’ Polly says. ‘There are bad monsters and there are good monsters. Just like witches and warlocks. They are just different to us, that’s all! And you should never treat anyone badly just because they aren’t like you. That’s. Not. Fair. And those monsters in the gallery never meant to hurt us, and you know it. You know the truth, Malorie. You’re just pretending that you don’t.’

‘You’re mad, Polly,’ Malorie says, backing away and shaking her head. ‘You’re completely mad. I tried to help you. I thought you would be grateful!’ she spits. ‘You could have been the most popular witch in school. But now – you know what? No-one will like you. No-one will ever want to be your friend!’

She throws up her hands. ‘Good luck being all alone again, Polly!’ she yells, as she runs off through the small crowd that has gathered.

Polly watches her go and takes a deep breath to steady herself. Then, shoving her hands in her pockets to hide the shaking, she slowly walks back to class.

A witch bumps into her. Polly keeps walking. The witch bumps into her again.

‘Hey!’ says Polly. ‘Careful!’

But when she turns to look at the witch who is hovering nearby – a witch from another year level whose name Polly doesn’t even know – she notices a curious thing.

The witch’s hand is hanging by her side in a most unnatural way. Her thumb and little finger are curled up into her palm and her three middle fingers are pointing to the ground.

Polly gasps. Is that an ‘M’?

Polly glances up at the witch’s face. She winks at Polly before she jogs off and is lost in the crowd. Polly blinks.

Another warlock walks past. He widens his eyes at Polly, ever so slightly. Polly looks down at his hand. Like the witch, he too is pointing three fingers down to the ground.

Polly can’t believe it. As she moves through the jumble of students making their way back to class, she spots more and more witches and warlocks catching her eye, and when she looks down at their hands they are all making the sign of an ‘M’.

‘M’ for monster.

Polly can’t hold back the smile. You are wrong, Malorie Halloway, she thinks. I am not alone. I am not alone at all!