As Imogen and Meredith were busy scheming in the back of the Mercedes, Kerry crawled into her house and plunged into a steaming hot bath. She then pampered herself shamelessly before snuggling down on her sofa to watch the only movie she knew would recharge her fabulousness after the horrific experience of last night’s camping – Marie Antoinette. As she saw Kirsten Dunst get her new shoes while surrounded by a mountain of cakes, Kerry was also keen to forget the rather unpleasant moment last night when she had kissed Peter, again, despite that vile biscuit comment of his earlier in the evening. Thankfully the rain had rather conveniently interrupted them even though it did involve a Simba-hair crisis.

The Duchesse de Polignac had just burst into the Royal Opera Box when Kerry’s pink phone began to ring. It was Catherine. Painfully aware that her favourite shoe-and-hair montage was about to begin onscreen, Kerry contemplated not answering, but her need to hear how much hangover agony Catherine was in temporarily outweighed her love of period-designed Manolos. She hit PAUSE.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi,’ came a fragile voice from the other end of the line. ‘I think I might be dying.’

‘Yeah,’ said Kerry.

‘Is everyone mad at me?’

‘Well, I don’t think last night’s going to go down as your finest performance ever.’

‘I didn’t know it was going to rain!’

‘It was the camping that was the problem and then inviting the boys. You were lucky, Catherine. You got so drunk you passed out and you didn’t have to camp any more! It was completely hideous.’

‘I’m paying for it now and I think I’m having an FIB too.’

Kerry pursed her lips in an unimpressed fashion. Since when had it been OK for Catherine to claim she was even capable of suffering a Fabulous Induced Breakdown? Had the whole world gone completely mad? Also, didn’t she know that you couldn’t have an FIB when you were hungover? The whole point of an FIB was that you were feeling so overwhelmingly, terrifyingly fab/glam that you went into total meltdown. You couldn’t do that if your head felt like someone was operating a pneumatic drill inside it and your tongue tasted like carpet. It really didn’t sound as if Catherine was taking the whole nature of an FIB seriously at all.

‘I’m freaking out about my birthday party,’ Catherine continued. ‘I haven’t got anything planned and I’ve just looked at how many people are coming. There’s so many of them, Kerry. I’m in such, such deep trouble. If I don’t pull off a good party, it’ll be like Meredith never said anything in the Tatler interview. I’ll be on the A-minus-list again!’

‘Probably more like B,’ said Kerry. ‘But that might not happen. Unless you ordered a clown. That could ruin you.’

‘I don’t know the first thing about actually planning a party,’ squeaked Catherine hysterically.

‘That’s because you’ve been a hanger-on for so long that you’ve never had to host,’ said Kerry sympathetically. ‘Now you’re one of the real popular girls, so everything’s different. I hope you appreciate how much hard work it is being fabulous?’

‘Sort of …’

‘Good. Don’t worry. I’ll help you with this one,’ said Kerry, becoming excited at the idea of being a party-planner again. ‘I mean, do you want this to be lusciously themed or traditional?’

‘What’s the difference and stuff?’

‘Well, a luscious theme involves enormous amounts of planning, some sort of dramatic centrepiece, costumes, theme-appropriate food and at least four Fabulous Induced Breakdowns.’

‘And what about the traditional?’

‘Order in a lot of alcohol, dress nice, play games, get drunk and congratulate each other on how fabulous we are.’

‘I think I’d like a theme … Maybe.’

‘You have to commit to a theme! You can’t say maybe. It’s very important, because you can’t change it halfway through. Especially,’ Kerry said accusingly, ‘since we only have two weeks to plan this and get theme-appropriate invitations out and RSVPed to as well.’

‘Couldn’t we just use Facebook?’

‘Maybe, but it doesn’t look good for a major b-day party. Right, first things first: theme?’

‘Me?’

‘No.’

‘Em … America?’

‘No, because some boy will then think it’s funny to turn up as a Ku Klux Klan member or something equally politically incorrect, because boys are stupid and unfunny. Or some secret slut will use it as an excuse to come as a Playboy bunny.’

‘Right …’

‘Think!’

‘Well, what about Mexico and stuff?’ suggested Catherine. ‘Because of, like, you know, the holiday.’

Kerry sat in a silence for a few moments, musing. ‘Yes. That’s …’ Catherine waited with bated breath for the word, the word that she had longed to hear about one of her ideas for four long years: ‘… fabulous,’ finished Kerry.

‘Oh my God! Yay!’

‘Right,’ said Kerry. ‘Let’s get my notepad and start brainstorming. Oh! I mean mind-mapping. I’m so politically correct.’

‘You’re such a good person, Kerry.’

‘I know, right?’

The boys’ locker room was practically empty when Cameron entered it after school on Monday afternoon. Blake’s locker was the one right next door and he looked temporarily panicked to see Cameron standing next to him, blazer in hand and schoolbag on shoulder, as he put his Spanish textbooks away.

Cameron stood next to him for a minute, in a silence that felt like it lasted for ten. ‘Hi,’ he said finally.

‘Hi,’ replied Blake, not taking his eyes off the books he was moving in and out of his locker.

‘Are you seriously just going to ignore me?’

‘I’m not ignoring you,’ Blake snapped, turning to face him. ‘I just said hi, didn’t I?’

‘That’s a lot more than you said on Sunday morning – and a lot less than the night before.’

The look of panic swept over Blake’s face again and he glanced nervously around to see if anyone was nearby. ‘Keep your voice down!’ Then he turned back and began rifling through his English books, focusing excessively on finding his copy of Macbeth. Cameron reached out and put his hand on the open locker door, blocking Blake’s access with his arm.

‘Are you really doing this to me? What’s changed since that night of the party? You seemed fine when it was just you and me.’

Blake didn’t turn to look at him this time, but just kept staring at the arm that stood between him and his locker. Cameron was pleased to see a mortified blush beginning to spread across Blake’s face as he clenched his jaw in an effort to keep calm. ‘I’m not doing anything to you. Look, what happened on Saturday was a mistake, OK? If you want everyone to know that you’re that way, then that’s fine, that’s your choice. I don’t have a problem with it, if you want to be that way, but I’m not the same as you, OK? I’m not.’

Cameron’s hand stayed where it was, but his eyes glazed over slightly and his head sank down, no longer looking directly at Blake. He didn’t speak and after a few seconds Blake turned to look at him, his face a perfect cross between anger and anguish. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Cameron. I really, really didn’t. Please don’t look like this. You’ve no idea how bad I feel. But I can’t do this. I’m not … y’know … like you …’

At that moment, the door behind Cameron swung open as a fourth-year boy sauntered in. The door would have hit Cameron squarely on the back of the head if Blake’s hand hadn’t shot out to stop it.

‘Hey!’ he shouted instinctively at the fourth-year. ‘What the hell, dude? You could have hit his head! Watch where you’re going, OK?’

The boy mumbled an apology and walked on as Blake turned his attention back to Cameron, pulling him in slightly.

‘Would you come away from the door?’ he snapped. ‘Next time you’ll get hit when it opens.’

Cameron had never heard Blake use any word stronger than ‘damn’. Under normal circumstances, it would have seemed as strange as Kerry turning up in a Kappa tracksuit, but right there and then Cameron really didn’t care. He remained standing, his face completely drained of all emotion.

Blake stared at the plasters and cuts on Cameron’s hand. ‘What happened to your hand?’

Cameron just shook his head. ‘I thought you were wonderful. But I was wrong.’ Then he turned and left as quickly as he could.

Cameron did not go in to school on Tuesday, nor did he go in on Wednesday. He spent most of his time lying on his bed and lying to his father. Luckily, Cameron’s mother had gone to spend two weeks with her sister and it is always much easier to lie about your health to your father. By Thursday, the feelings of mortification and embarrassment – how, how could he have been stupid enough to believe Blake had wanted the same things as him? – had been replaced by a sort of dull, empty feeling. All he wanted to do was stay in his bed, thinking of nothing. On Friday, emotional repression gave way to a sense of heartbreak so strong it made Cameron feel physically ill. He spent hours trawling through Facebook, looking at every picture of Blake he could find. Each time he reached one of him with Catherine, he had to close the laptop. Cameron could not even take any pleasure in knowing that, as far as Blake was concerned, the game was up. No matter what he did from now on, there was absolutely no way he could outmanoeuvre the juggernaut of Meredith’s vengeance against someone who had twice trespassed the boundaries of her group.

‘Let’s punch him in the penis.’

‘No, Imogen.’

Imogen tossed her empty coffee cup into the bin on the first-floor Languages’ corridor at Friday lunch-time. ‘It’s been a week! Clearly, he’s not breaking up with Catherine. It’s punishment time. We agreed!’

‘The agreement was not that we’d wait until the end of the week then punch him in the genitals.’

‘I think it’s a super idea.’

‘It wouldn’t solve anything.’

‘It would make me feel better – a quick thump to the testicles would teach him a very valuable lesson.’

Meredith sighed. She was bored with this line of conversation and Imogen eventually relinquished the idea of a crotch-crushing to review more realistic avenues of vengeance. ‘So, tell me what the exact situation is with the whole Catherine–Blake–Cameron thing again, please.’

Meredith inhaled, preparing to give yet another virtuoso performance in lying. ‘When Cameron told me Kerry thought it was me who told Michael about the party, I panicked and I knew Kerry wouldn’t let it go until the whole thing was dragged out into one big mess. You see, I thought Michael had made the invitation thing up just to get back at you after you were so brave and walked away from him about the whole sex thing, but by that stage the truth really didn’t matter because you know what it’s like when Kerry gets an idea into her head and … well, I didn’t want any more stress for us after everything that had happened, so I told Catherine to take the blame for it and after we negotiated it for ages, with Blake’s secret and Mexico as the bait, she gave in.’

‘But now you think she actually did tell Michael and was just using you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Meredith sighed. ‘Maybe … or maybe Michael was actually lying to Kerry and we all fell for it. Either way, if I look like I’m ruining her relationship with Blake, she’ll tell everyone I did the same to you and Stewart.’

‘And they’d think I was a fool for staying friends with you!’ Imogen realized. ‘So what can we do?’

‘Catherine knows he’s gay – at the very least, bisexual – and a liar,’ Meredith continued, ‘but, as much as she hates being used or lied to, she still loves the attention it’s brought her a lot more.’

‘Well, then we need to find a way of ending the attention, don’t we?’

‘Yes. We need to chip away at the only part of their relationship that’s still working – the public side of it. We can’t do anything to the private side, because of what she might do, and we can’t run the risk of people finding out that they broke up because he’s gay. At least, not yet. Not until Cameron’s ready. If we start to make people think there’s something weird about them as a couple or even just him on his own, all the good kind of attention they’re getting will stop. Blake’s only using her to increase his respectability and take attention away from his love life and she’s only using him to make herself feel better. There’s no way they’ll stay together if all this stops. As long as Catherine never discovers it came from us, we’ll be fine.’

‘If she breaks up with him, though, what happens if she tells Cameron that you told her about their kiss?’

Meredith shook her head worriedly. ‘We just have to hope she isn’t that stupid. She couldn’t be. Could she? I mean, if she tells him, then she’ll basically be admitting to dating Blake even though she knew it would hurt Cameron all along and if she knows Cameron at all she’ll be smart and keep her mouth shut.’

‘Yes – if she’s smart. The only problem is that Catherine isn’t smart. She’s an idiot.’

‘Yes, but she’s also terrified of people being angry at her,’ Meredith reasoned. ‘She won’t tell him.’

‘I suppose we can threaten her with a beating if she even suggests the idea,’ Imogen said happily.

‘You can. And in the meantime we just have to make sure that the reason she breaks up with Blake has nothing to do with Cameron, me, you, Michael or Gay-gate. She can never even suspect that whatever rumours we start about her and Blake came from us.’

‘I know exactly when we can do this,’ said Imogen triumphantly. ‘Sports Day. Every popular girl in senior school will be in the same place at the same time. All we need to do is start a rumour and it’ll be all over the school in hours that Catherine and Blake are hiding something. No one needs to know we’re the ones who started it and there’ll be no way of stopping a rumour that’s started by every popular girl in Malone, is there?’

Meredith smiled and linked arms with her friend. ‘That’s perfect, Imogen! We’re not going to break them up; the whole school is.’

That Saturday afternoon, Cameron was lying on his bed, in his pyjamas, with his eyes puffy and exhausted. He looked up with surprise and embarrassment as Imogen and Meredith walked into his room, carrying a couple of bags in each hand.

‘Imogen knows everything,’ Meredith began. ‘We’ve had a long chat together about the whole thing and we’ve been scheming for the entire week.’

‘We’re not talking about Blake, or what has happened or what is going to happen,’ said Imogen. ‘We don’t give a fuck. Fuck him, Cameron. You’re so overwhelmingly too good for him.’

‘But …’

‘Don’t interrupt,’ said Meredith decisively. ‘We are here to be the best friends possible. We’re not talking about him, it, or anything unpleasant.’

As Meredith sat down on the edge of Cameron’s bed, Imogen continued to outline their plans. ‘We’re going to be foul. Today is a day of total self-indulgence; there’s going to be no effort of any kind. Not even about being fabulous. It’s going to be greasy and disgusting and naughty and wrong.’ Then she held up a massive KFC Bargain Bucket, a large Pizza Hut box and two tubs of Ben & Jerry’s Caramel Chew Chew.

Meredith placed four bottles of Diet Coke and the box set of Rome on the bed.

‘This is how much I love you,’ Imogen continued. ‘Fuck the diet. Fuck calories. We’re going to sit here with you, for the rest of the day and the night, if you want. And we’re going to pig out and veg. We’ll get as fat as you like and we’re going to watch Rome from the first episode until we physically can’t take it any more.’

‘We’re going to splurge so much we hit a food coma,’ said Meredith, popping disc one into Cameron’s DVD player.

Tears welled up in Cameron’s eyes. ‘Thanks. I really appreciate this.’

‘Appreciate what?’ said Meredith, curling up next to him, as Imogen joined them on the other side. ‘This is so much fun for us. Atia’s my role model.’

Giving Cameron a comforting kiss on the cheek, Imogen nodded. ‘Good food, good friends, good ancient orgies, killings and general all-round naughtiness. Fab-o-rama.’

‘Oh my gosh!’ said Meredith. ‘Pass me the bucket! I haven’t had fried chicken in years. Sometimes I think that this is worth being fat for. Then I remember that Chanel don’t do kaftans.’

Sports Day at Mount Olivet took place on the large rugby fields and sports tracks that sat at the back of the school. Medals were awarded for each individual event, with Gold carrying ten points, Silver seven and Bronze three to the house of each medallist. At the end of the day, one of the school’s four houses – Antrim, Chichester, O’Neill and Stormont – would be declared winner, with an end-of-year party for the victorious house being thrown for them in the school grounds. Those members of the school who weren’t participating got to come down in non-uniform and watch the day’s proceedings, cheering on their fellow housemates and cultivating some school spirit.

At least that was the theory.

Cecilia, Anastasia and Meredith sat gazing out across the fields, enjoying the warm weather and the cool breeze. Meredith’s long brown hair hung loose down her back today and it fluttered in the wind, momentarily swirling around her pearl earrings. She reached up and delicately guided it back into its proper place. As ever, she looked perfect and her outfit’s colour was beautiful, although it had required lengthy negotiations last night with Kerry, who felt it was her colour. Meredith had turned up in an elegant pink-and-cream dress with a pink skirt and cream-and-pink top half; she had also brought a matching parasol, determined to preserve her freckle-free, ivory-white complexion at any cost. Imogen, who was equally pale, had donned an enormous hat with matching sunglasses. Conceding defeat on the dress but not the refreshments, Kerry, whose outfit was a purple number by Derek Lam with a pair of Miu Miu shoes, was placing jugs of iced pink lemonade, pink-topped cupcakes and a careful pyramid of Mikados on the rug. Surrounding the queens, the members of their clique had merged to form some sort of conglomeration of popularity – Emily, Louise, Sarah-Jane, Olivia-Grace, Tangela, Natasha, Mariella, Lavinia, Imogen and Kerry.

‘It’s such a totally lush day. Lush-o-licious,’ sighed Cecilia, letting her summer pastel pashmina dangle from her elbows.

‘I know,’ agreed Anastasia in her dulcet aristocratic tones. ‘If it wasn’t for all the sports, it would be perfect. I don’t know why they have to make so much noise.’

‘Where’s Catherine?’ asked Tangela, a question which momentarily brought a slight arch to Anastasia’s left eyebrow since Tangela was very much the Catherine of her group.

Meredith, Imogen and Kerry exchanged glances with one another, with Meredith apparently refusing to say the words, which meant Imogen had to answer from beneath her hat. ‘She’s competing.’

Ten perfectly coiffed heads snapped in her direction. ‘She’s what?’ asked Olivia-Grace, mouth open in horror.

‘She’s competing, all right?’ snapped Imogen. ‘Yes, we’re very ashamed, but she only sprang the news on us this morning!’

‘In what?’ asked Natasha, pouring herself an enormous glass of pink lemonade.

‘The women’s hurdles,’ replied Kerry. ‘I don’t know why. She’s got no natural rhythm. I’m worried she might kill herself at the first leap.’

‘How could you let one of us compete?’ asked Cecilia, in a tone that wasn’t so much angry as just plain confused. ‘It’s Sports Day. We don’t do Sports Day. It’s like the half-off bin. We just don’t go near it, babes.’

‘Also, this is the one day of the year that the rest of the school gets to be better than us,’ said Sarah-Jane. ‘We shouldn’t take that away from them.’

‘Or at least they think that they’re better just because they run, jump and throw,’ murmured Anastasia. ‘Gorillas can do the same. I don’t know why anyone gets excited about it. On the plus side, at least it means that Catherine won’t be sitting with us all day. She did rather ruin Mariella’s birthday picnic. I’ve never seen anyone spill quite so much in such a short period of time.’

There was a tense silence as most of the girls looked expectantly at Meredith. No one had insulted Catherine openly since the Tatler interview, because Catherine was now ‘in’. However, Meredith’s face didn’t register even the vaguest flicker of a re-action to Anastasia’s comment. Instead, she merely dusted a tiny piece of dandelion off her skirt and said neutrally, ‘Of course, I love Catherine, she’s obviously one of my best friends, but she’s not herself nowadays. Something’s up. I think her boyfriend is the problem. There’s something … weird … about him and their relationship. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’

Instantly, Kerry watched for any sign of eye contact between Meredith and Imogen. She was absolutely certain that some kind of plan was being hatched. Blake had never been publicly bad-mouthed before, certainly not to every single senior popular girl in the school and never to the extent of being described as ‘the problem’. Whatever Meredith was doing was something new and something very, very deliberate.

Imogen continued to deliberately stare out across the grounds, with an air of polite indifference, but inwardly she was delighted that this was the beginning of the end of Blake Hartman. And, as Kerry watched and Imogen feigned normality, Meredith’s carefully timed dropping of the word ‘weird’ had set the popular girls into a flurry of gossip, just as Imogen had predicted. No matter what they thought, or didn’t think, knew or didn’t know, Meredith’s use of the words ‘weird’ and ‘problem’ had effectively given permission for a fevered session of theorizing and character assassination. From the moment the word ‘weird’ had been deployed, Blake Hartman was finished.

‘How do you mean weird?’ asked Tangela. ‘Like it’s a lie and stuff?’

‘Do you think they’re not really going out?’ gasped Mariella. ‘Oh my God!’

‘I don’t know,’ murmured Meredith demurely. ‘I mean, they’re probably definitely a real couple. At least, I think so … oh, I don’t know … something’s just not right. I’m probably wrong or just worrying too much. I hope so! Am I the only one who’s noticed it?’

‘No!’ chorused three of the girls, who had never noticed anything unusual about Catherine and Blake, beyond his beauty and her klutziness.

‘I’ve always thought there’s something really secretive about him,’ announced Sarah-Jane, adjusting her own pashmina. ‘And didn’t you think it was really weird they were going out in the first place, Cee?’

Cecilia nodded authoritatively. ‘Totally. I’ve thought that there’s something weird about them from the beginning, haven’t I?’

Emily, Louise, Sarah-Jane and Olivia-Grace hastened to agree with her. ‘Yes,’ said Louise. ‘You knew right from the beginning, Cee.’

‘It’s like they’re trying to prove something,’ said Lavinia, eager to be included.

‘I know,’ said Tangela. ‘Like the way they’re all over each other all the time, right?’

‘Exactly!’ said Cecilia. ‘It’s a total permanent fake PDA.’

‘Maybe he’s gay?’ suggested Lavinia.

Kerry saw Imogen’s back stiffen with surprise, but Meredith again stayed expressionless, gazing down at her fluttering pink skirt with a face so serene it would have shamed a saint. Oh my God, Kerry thought feverishly, Blake is gay and the other two know about it! He was the guy at Cameron’s birthday. And Imogen has somehow found out but hasn’t told me! That treacherous little she-beast! This is clearly supposed to be some sort of weird punishment for my totally innocent bridesmaid comment.

Kerry knew enough to keep silent and never to interrupt an attack launched by another member of the group, but inside she was fuming – particularly at Imogen. She expected nothing less from Meredith.

‘I don’t really get a gay vibe from him, though,’ said Tangela. ‘Do you?’

‘Not really,’ said Mariella slowly. ‘I mean, has there, like, been a guy he’s ever even, like, flirted with?’

‘I don’t really know him,’ said Olivia-Grace, picking up a cupcake. ‘But I’m sure there is something weird about him. I’ve always got that impression.’

‘It’s even weirder that he’s not gay,’ continued Mariella. ‘It’s like he’s trying to prove something, but nothing’s really there. That’s even weirder, right?’

‘Right,’ agreed Cecilia and Louise at exactly the same time.

‘So weird,’ said Lavinia.

‘So weird,’ sighed Natasha.

Over at the running track, Mark had just taken Gold in the 400 metres for Antrim and was laughingly taunting Stewart, who had come in three seconds behind him, winning Silver for O’Neill. As the hardcore kids prepared for the 1,500 metres, Catherine was busy stretching for the hurdles, while Blake was catching his breath after failing to win a medal for Chichester in the 400. After a few minutes, he went over to congratulate Mark and Stewart on their performances. Mark beamed and clapped his hand on Blake’s shoulder. ‘Cheers, mate,’ he laughed, ‘and better luck next year.’ Stewart simply nodded cold acknowledgement and wandered off to talk to some of the lads from his form class, leaving Blake with a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the 400 metres.

‘Oh my God!’ said Imogen. ‘Catherine’s about to do the hurdles.’

‘This is going to be a disaster,’ said Sarah-Jane happily as they all turned to look at the running track where Catherine was currently psyching herself up.

‘Oh my God,’ whispered Lavinia. ‘Look! Blake hasn’t even come over to see her before she runs. Isn’t that weird?’

Meredith suppressed a smile. The starting pistol went off and Catherine shot out of the blocks. She cleared the first hurdle, but her foot caught on the second one and so she ended up head-butting the third, careering under the fourth and skidding to a painful halt just before the fifth. Some of the girls inhaled in sympathy at Catherine’s obvious pain – others, namely Imogen, Tangela and Sarah-Jane, had to repress their giggles. Louise and Emily lost the battle completely and dissolved into a fit of hysterics, only pulling themselves together as Catherine was brought hobbling over to them with an ice-pack on her head.

‘That was really sore and stuff,’ she said, wincing as she sat down. Olivia-Grace looked like she was about to faint at the sight of someone – blood and grit-splattered – sitting on her picnic blankets, but she reckoned that refusing a seat to a cripple might make her look like a bitch, so she kept quiet.

‘Oh my God,’ said Meredith. ‘Coral Andrews is about to do the long jump. Talk about defying gravity.’

‘She’s indie, Mer-Mer, not fat,’ laughed Cecilia.

‘Yes, but she is a witch,’ replied Meredith, regarding the figure of Coral with sizzling dislike, especially as the girl sailed through the air to win first place and received the cheers of the sporting clique.

‘Catherine, what are we going to dress you in to cover that cut on your forehead?’ demanded Kerry, oblivious now to everything but the fear that Catherine’s thoughtless decision to skid face-down through gravel was going to ruin the beautiful vista of fabulousness she had planned for tomorrow’s birthday. ‘It is not theme appropriate.’

‘I know! There’s so much to get done,’ said Catherine. ‘What should I do first?’

‘Eyebrow plucking,’ answered Meredith swiftly. ‘Unless you’re planning to go as Frida Kahlo, although I suppose that is theme appropriate. Kidding!’

Catherine smiled, pretending to understand the joke. Her thoughts about the mysterious Frida Kahlo, Blake and tomorrow’s party were interrupted by an apparently casual Cecilia. ‘Catherine, Blake didn’t win anything in the 400 metres. Or the relay.’

Catherine moaned. ‘Really? He’s going to be in such a sulk for the rest of the day. I don’t know what’s wrong with him at the minute, but he’s been in a real mood and stuff with me for the last few days. I really hope he’s not like this at my birthday tomorrow.’

All of the girls exchanged looks with one another – what was Blake’s problem?

Kerry picked up her phone as it began ringing. ‘Hello. Yes, this is Kerry Davison, party-planner for Catherine O’Rourke’s Sweet Sixteenth. No, no, no. We only want one big piñata. It’s our centrepiece! And it has to be pink …’

Pink piñatas were far from everyone’s mind in the boys’ changing rooms late that afternoon, after Sports Day.

Having won first place in the 400 metres, Mark was in fine form and left on a high to go home early to help his mother with decorating their new house. Peter left ten minutes later, rushing to make it home in time to get ready for a date that evening with a girl from Immaculate Heart. But despite taking Silver in the same race and Gold in the javelin, Stewart seemed quiet and preoccupied. Since he had no plans for the evening, he hung back and allowed others to use the showers first. Emerging from the changing room alone sometime after most boys had left, dressed in a navy T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops, Stewart was surprised to see Blake in the locker area, searching for something.

‘I’ve lost my locker keys,’ he explained, seeing Stewart’s puzzled expression, ‘and I really need to get my Spanish books out of here for the weekend.’

‘Sometimes they open if you do this,’ said Stewart, strategically tapping the locker with his elbow. It popped open and Blake smiled back in gratitude, reaching in to get his books. Stewart simply turned and walked away.

‘Are you going to Catherine’s on Saturday?’ asked Blake.

‘Yeah. Are you?’

‘O-of course,’ stammered Blake, struggling to remain calm. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Don’t do that,’ commanded Stewart, in a very quiet but very firm tone. It was the first time they had spoken since he had seen him on Cameron’s arm and he wasn’t impressed. ‘Don’t try and shit around with me the way you have with everybody else. Catherine and Cameron don’t deserve what you’re doing to them. I used to really like you, Blake. I thought you were a good guy, but I guess I must’ve been wrong.’

‘No, Stew, you don’t understand. What happened on Saturday night …’

‘I’m not annoyed about what happened on Saturday night. I’m annoyed about what happened on Sunday morning, Blake. Don’t worry, I’m not going to “out” you. It’s up to you to sort this out, if you ever have the balls to. But don’t try and be matey with me after what you’ve done.’

‘Stew, don’t you think –’

‘Stop. Fucking. Talking. Or else I’m going to lose my temper with you and I really don’t want to do that. Maybe I don’t know the ins and outs of this; maybe I don’t understand what happened with you and Cameron or what it’s like to feel the way you do, Blake. I’m sure this is incredibly hard, but a lot of people are … are … gay, Blake, or bi, or whatever, and they deal with it better than you have. Much better. And, like I said, I’m sure I don’t know how difficult and confusing it is, but all that I do know is that I’d much rather be friends with a gay guy than a liar. I’ll see you around.’

Cradling a half-empty Pimms and lemonade and wearing a beautiful green cocktail dress, Meredith was admiring the spectacular sunset over the bay from Anastasia’s veranda. All the popular girls had been invited back to Anastasia’s for a post-Sports Day supper party. It should have been fabulous, but for the fact that she couldn’t quite figure out why Kerry kept throwing her filthy yet pained glances every five minutes or why she had been so cold with Imogen for the best part of the evening.

Imogen, sporting a sexy navy-and-white number, was standing next to her smoking. ‘Christ, the view’s beau, isn’t it?’

‘It really is,’ said Meredith. ‘What’s wrong with Kerry?’

‘I don’t know. Time of the month?’

‘No, we all get it at pretty much the same time, don’t we?’

‘God, that’s horrifying.’

‘She’s kind of annoying me tonight.’

‘Yes, she’s quite good at that. How’s Cameron?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Meredith irritably. ‘The same as he was yesterday and the day before and the day before. It’s getting ridiculous.’

Glancing behind her to check none of the other girls were too close, Imogen lowered her voice and leant in closer. ‘Listen, Mer, I’ve got something to tell you.’

Meredith turned to look at her, her eyes sparkling at the prospect of gossip. ‘Oh?’

‘I had sex.’

A light gust of wind off the bay tousled Meredith’s hair. ‘With who?’

‘Stewart, of course!’

‘At Catherine’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’

Meredith turned back towards the sunset and took a sip of her drink.

‘Aren’t you pleased?’ asked Imogen.

‘Is it something to be pleased about?’

Not expecting this reaction, Imogen faltered slightly. ‘Do you think it was a mistake?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Do you think it was the right thing to do?’

‘I definitely didn’t say that.’

‘Well, what, then?’

‘Don’t snap at me just because you’re beginning to realize what you’ve done,’ Meredith commanded. ‘It takes years to build up a reputation and one rumour to destroy it, especially if you’re a girl. You should know that.’

‘I haven’t turned into some massive slag!’

‘I know.’

Imogen stood in silence for a moment, before trying to explain herself. ‘It was one time, with a boy I used to be in love with. It was special.’

‘Yes. And a risk.’

‘How?’

‘It won’t do your rep any good if people find out about this.’

‘How will they find out?’

‘The same way they always do.’

‘People would only find out if I started making a habit of it,’ Imogen snapped.

‘Well, then don’t make a habit of it.’

‘I’m not going to!’

‘Good. I’m going to get another drink,’ said Meredith. ‘I love your dress.’

The day of Catherine’s birthday party dawned bright, breezy and beautiful and Catherine was delighted that it couldn’t have been more different from the storm that had plagued her last party, two weeks earlier. Kerry arrived at her house shortly after ten a.m. to prepare everything for the party’s six p.m. starting time. A forest of green, white and red streamers and bunting was being hung from tree to tree in the garden, the beautiful (pink) piñata had been suspended from the largest tree at the centre, icons of Our Lady of Guadálupe were dotted across the house and the caterers had done a spectacular job, with twelve tables set for Catherine’s seventy-two guests around a large central buffet section.

Since the weather was so hot and the party was being held outside, Meredith was dressing in an embroidered white silk-chiffon 1950s-style Robert Cavalli dress, with the floral design in fetching purple, when her phone beeped with an incoming message.

Hey. Really sorry, Mer, but not feeling up to Catherine’s today. Still not feeling good. Love Cam xoxo

Dressed in her Cavalli finest, with an enormous pair of Chanel sunglasses in her hand, a white Fendi bag on her right arm and Catherine’s gift-wrapped present on her left, Meredith swept into Cameron’s bedroom twenty minutes later with an unimpressed look on her face.

‘Don’t be mad,’ Cameron began. ‘I just can’t, Meredith.’

‘No, Cameron, you won’t. There’s a difference. This has been going on for almost two weeks and now you’re missing a birthday party because of it! Do you really think Blake Hartman is special enough to spend this long moping over him? I don’t! Look at yourself, Cameron! I can’t even begin to imagine how embarrassed you must be. Or should be. Now, pull yourself together! I’ve been patient, I’ve done the good-friend routine, I even ate fried food for you, but enough is enough and it’s tough-love time! You are not heartbroken, you are not in love with him; you couldn’t be – you haven’t known him long enough and he’s so not worth it! This is just a confusing crush that’s gone badly, badly wrong. I know that you’re upset, but I’m just not putting up with this any more. Either pull yourself together or don’t get in contact with me again until you do.’

Cameron’s eyes filled up with tears again, shocked that she had turned on him so unexpectedly and so viciously. ‘Meredith …’

‘Your job is to be fabulous, Cameron, not badly kept and pathetic. So fix it. I’m not friends with losers and that’s what you’re turning into, and all because of some bambi-eyed transfer student!’

But rather than inspire him, Meredith’s words only seemed to have crushed Cameron further and he lay back on the bed, rolling over, away from her furious gaze. A tiny part of him wanted to yell at her that she had been the one to keep them apart that night, that maybe, if he had stayed in that room, Blake wouldn’t have left in the morning, but he wasn’t entirely convinced about that argument himself and he couldn’t bear to hear the scorn and vitriol Meredith would pour on the very idea.

He heard the swish of her dress as she spun round and left him alone. He picked up the remote and clicked play on the DVD player, returning to the movie he had been watching, one of his and Meredith’s favourites, actually – Gone with the Wind – one they had not tired of watching since they’d first discovered it at the age of thirteen.

By this stage in the movie, Scarlett O’Hara had just returned home and was trudging wearily up the hill of her family’s plantation. Broken by hunger and exhaustion, the spoiled Southern belle, who had been used to a life of luxury and privilege, and of always getting her own way, collapsed on the soft earth and began to weep. She was staring into a future that was now shaped by war, defeat, famine and ruin. Then, in an iconic moment of cinema history and one of the campest, most melodramatic and yet most magnificently wonderful speeches of all time, Scarlett stumbled to her feet, raised her clenched fist to the sunset and, with the tears still on her face, she vowed: ‘As God is my witness … As God is my witness, they’re not going to lick me. I’m going to live through this and when it’s all over, I’ll never be hungry again – no, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill, as God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again!’ And the music swelled to a crescendo, leaving Scarlett standing, defiant and alone, against a painted sky, before blackness swallowed her up again. Cameron clicked the off switch on the controls and stared at the blank screen.

Imogen and Meredith were met by Catherine’s mother at the front door on arrival and she threw open her arms to greet them. ‘Girls, it’s so lovely to see you!’ she beamed, hugging them each in turn.

‘Thank you, Mrs O’Rourke. The party looks amazing,’ smiled Meredith. ‘Where’s the birthday girl?’

‘She’s out in the back garden with Blake and all the other guests. And how many times have I told you, Meredith? Call me Mary!’

Meredith blushed charmingly. ‘Sorry. Here’s our present for later.’

‘You really didn’t have to,’ said Mary O’Rourke. ‘You’ve already done so much for Catherine this year with the holiday and everything. I don’t know what she would do without you girls. I just know she appreciates it so much.’

‘We feel the same about her,’ simpered Imogen.

‘I believe it’s you we have to thank for Blake? Catherine says you introduced them.’

‘Well, actually, Mrs O’Rourke, Blake’s far closer to Cameron than he is to us,’ said Meredith. ‘It’s pretty much because of him that Blake and Catherine are dating in the first place, although I’m sure he’d be far too modest to say anything about that himself.’

‘Really? And what’s Blake like in school?’ asked Mary.

‘Just as nice as he is outside of it,’ answered Imogen.

‘That’s such a relief. We like him so much and he’s been so good for Catherine’s self-confidence,’ said Mary. ‘I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t trying to cover up his bad points in front of the girlfriend’s parents. You know what boys can be like.’

‘And so does Blake,’ said Meredith.

‘Is he a popular fella in school, then? I imagine he must be, given how nice and how handsome he is. Is he a bit of a ladies’ man?’

‘Blake? No, not at all!’ replied Meredith. ‘Well, we should go say happy birthday to the lovely lady herself.’

‘Ach, yes! Have fun, girls!’ called Mary O’Rourke, reflecting on what good friends Meredith and Imogen had been to her daughter.

Surrounded by her guests at the centre of the garden, Catherine looked lovely, with a Brooks Brothers headscarf placed decorously over the cut on her forehead and with Blake’s arm dutifully round her waist. She smiled happily as Imogen and Meredith leant in and kissed her on the cheek, wishing her happy birthday. ‘Oh my God, guys. It’s all turned out to be so beau.’

‘It looks lush,’ said Imogen. ‘Fab party.’

‘Where’s Cameron?’

‘He didn’t feel very well,’ Meredith answered.

‘Well, I hope he’s OK,’ Catherine said politely, but looking slightly relieved. ‘Oh well. Poor him. Oh! Natasha’s here! I’ll be right back.’

As Catherine bounced off to say hi to Natasha, Meredith and Imogen turned their backs on Blake without addressing a single word to him and went over to get two margaritas from the caterers.

‘Is Cameron still …’ Imogen began.

Meredith nodded. ‘Yes. He is. I’m not pleased.’

Imogen sighed. ‘Meredith, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about … That thing you said yesterday really upset me.’

‘About how your brother Richard kind of looks like the baby from Family Guy?’

‘No! When did you say that?’

‘Um … never.’

‘No, I mean what you said about the sex thing.’

‘Oh.’

‘Look, I need you to understand something. I’m not saying that it was perfect … in fact, you were right – it was kind of a risk. But it wasn’t attention-seeking or pathetic. I didn’t do it to get some boy to like me or make myself feel worthy – if I felt that way, I could have had sex with Michael the Immaculate Heart Rapist when he asked. But I didn’t. I did it with Stewart because it should have been him all along and I don’t think the opportunity’s ever going to come again. We were careful and it meant a lot, Meredith. Please don’t ruin it and make me feel embarrassed about it. I’m not saying this is the right decision for you. I know you’ve decided not to and I respect that, so please respect my choice. I have absolutely no intention of having sex again for a very long time. There’s obviously no one who’s good enough even for a kiss from me right now. But, anyway – I’m happy with my decision.’

Meredith scrutinized Imogen for a moment and then casually nodded her head. She accepted her friend’s point, but, as ever, would be damned if she would verbally admit it.

Imogen smiled. ‘Thanks. I –’ But she suddenly stopped speaking and began looking over Meredith’s shoulder. After a few seconds, she pointed in that direction and Meredith turned round to see Cameron stepping out of his father’s car and walking up the garden path towards them. He looked amazing. Freshly showered, clean-shaven and wearing a Howick green rugby top, Armani jeans, Kurt Geiger shoes and the Rolex his father had given him for his sixteenth birthday, he removed his sunglasses and kissed Catherine on the cheek. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said.

‘I thought you weren’t coming? Meredith said you were still sick.’

‘I just felt a bit tired after being ill all this week, so it took me a bit longer to get ready. Happy birthday!’

‘Thanks,’ she said with a smile, although as always Catherine felt a twinge of panic if Cameron showed up when Blake was around. Thankfully, Blake was over talking to Mark now, which meant Cameron wouldn’t be going anywhere near him, she reasoned. She breathed a sigh of relief as he walked over to Imogen and Meredith, who were regarding him with quizzical smiles.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Meredith as he approached.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, leaning in to kiss them both on the cheek. ‘I wasn’t feeling very well, but I’m totally over it now.’

‘Really?’ asked Meredith. ‘Because I don’t want you to catch the same thing again.’

‘I won’t,’ Cameron replied. ‘My immune system’s pretty invincible now.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, but I hope you’ve come to terms with the condition that made you susceptible in the first place?’

Cameron nodded. ‘Yes. I have. And that condition isn’t going away and it doesn’t make me sick – it’s just part of the way I’m made up. Unfortunately, it did leave me open to my recent brush with … um …’

‘Mental influenza?’ suggested Imogen.

‘Exactly, but I’m over the flu now and I’ve come to terms with the original … condition. I’m back!’

Meredith broke into a warm smile, before replacing it with a look of cool indifference. She took a drink. ‘You know, Cameron, I do rather love you … Please don’t make a fuss.’

‘So do I,’ said Imogen.

‘All right. That’s enough feelings for one day,’ snapped Meredith. ‘Let’s move on.’

‘So what brought about the rather miraculous recovery from the flu?’ asked Imogen.

‘I was watching Gone with the Wind and I decided if Scarlett O’Hara can get through war, famine, disease and disaster and still look amazing, I can certainly get over a couple of kisses. Also, I’m far too young and popular to give up.’

‘So … let me get this straight. You got out of bed because Scarlett O’Hara yelled at you?’ asked Imogen. Cameron nodded and she threw back her head and roared with laughter. ‘That is the gayest of gay things I have ever heard!’

Cameron smirked and as Imogen doubled over, Meredith burst into laughter too. They only stopped when Kerry skidded to a halt next to them. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked in a harassed, belligerent way – clearly under the impression that if she was swamped with organization her friends should not be having fun without her.

‘Nothing, Kerry, I’ll tell you later,’ said Cameron breathlessly.

‘You probably won’t,’ she snapped.

‘Oh, he will,’ snorted Imogen as her laughter began again. ‘As God is his witness, he will!’

Meredith started laughing again and even Cameron struggled to suppress his giggles, wary of how they would be received by Kerry, who flounced off to supervise the arrival of the birthday cake. The other three went to get some food from the buffet table and then took their seats at their assigned table to wait for Catherine’s birthday speech.

‘Now, Cameron, make sure you eat up everything. You don’t want to be hungry again – no, nor any of your folk.’

‘Ha ha, yes, I made a major life decision based entirely on the words of Scarlett O’Hara. It’s all very funny.’

Kerry tapped her glass with a knife as Catherine stood up to speak.

‘Hello? Hi! Um, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for coming to my totally awesome b-day fest and for all the presents. Yay! I really have to thank my bezzy Kerry for being the world’s greatest party organizer and planner and stuff, because she planned and organized, like, everything. Like, seriously. Also, to Mummy and Daddy for being so nice and paying for everything and getting me such lush presents and being, like, so loving and kind and great. And, um, also, I have to thank my boyfriend, Blake Hartman – he’s been really sweet to me all day and great and I’m so lucky to have such an unbelievable amazing boyfriend!’

‘Oh my God,’ muttered Meredith, ‘what’s that smell? Ah yes, the cloying stench of desperation …’

‘Really?’ said Imogen. ‘Is that what that is? I always get it so confused with bullshit.’

‘I know, they’re very similar, aren’t they?’

‘So, in conclusion, I just want to say thanks to everyone,’ said Catherine, ‘and I really hope you all have an amazing time and stuff. Thanks!’

People clapped and began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ as the cake was wheeled out and Catherine stood in front of it, flanked by Blake, her parents, grandmother and two sisters.

With her task now finished and still sulking at being excluded from the others’ joke, Kerry knocked back a margarita, a shot of tequila and asked the bartender to whip up her favourite cocktail – a cosmopolitan. Since she hadn’t eaten all day due to the stress of party-planning, it took about forty-five minutes until she was well and truly hammered. Excusing herself, Kerry tottered upstairs to find somewhere to lie down. Her feet, however, had rather different ideas and she went over on her stiletto, sinking down on to the carpet as a wall of pink fabric from her dress billowed up around her face. Hmmm, she thought, this doesn’t feel like a bed. Oh, wait, it isn’t; it’s the floor.

Just then, Mark Kingston emerged from the bathroom next to her. ‘Kerry, are you all right?’ he asked, stooping down to help her.

‘I’m fine,’ she smiled. ‘I’m on the carpet. And it’s very comfortable actually. Carpet. How are you?’

‘I’m fine. Let’s get you somewhere to lie down properly,’ he said, gently placing her arms round him and getting her back on her feet. ‘Let’s try in here.’ He navigated her into Catherine’s bedroom and tried to get her to lie down on the bed.

‘No!’ she hollered. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m the party-planner! Party-planner’s never quick.’

‘You mean quit?’

‘That’s what I said,’ she slurred, pointing a finger at him and winking cheekily. Unfortunately, her right eyelid somehow forgot to come up from the wink and instead chose to remain closed, so Kerry was now regarding Mark beadily with one eye.

‘Maybe you should just lie down for a bit?’ he said gently. ‘I’ll get you a glass of water.’

‘I’m bloody fine! Jus’ a li’l bit too drunky. My head hurts … pink …’ Then her head flopped forward and she started staring intently at the twinkling pink diamantés on her shoes. She then moved one of her feet and watched it, entranced.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’

Kerry shook her head with exaggerated seriousness, before mumbling, ‘I’m sorry I thought it was you who was gay.’

‘What?’

‘Gay, gay, gay,’ she trilled happily, throwing herself backwards on to the bed. ‘I thought it was you that Cameron kicked at his birthday.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Kissed. I mean kissed. You knew that,’ she snapped, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction, but accidentally stabbing her chin with it instead. ‘Ow, I hurteyed my chin. And I only have one … Yes, yes, yes, Cameron kissed a guy. A guy, a gay. Isn’t it funny how there’s only one difference between them? You know, only one letter that’s different. One little “u” turns into an “a” and suddenly a guy becomes a gay. Maybe that’s why so many gay men are guys. And so many guys are gay men. The letters …’

Mark was standing over her, clearly stunned. ‘Cameron kissed a guy?’

‘Yes,’ giggled Kerry, kicking her heels into the air and enjoying the sound her skirt made as her legs moved. ‘Yes, yes, yes. I thought it was you because you’ve always been a bit weird and really possessive, but it wasn’t. It was Blake. I know that. Even though some people think I don’t. Oh, they think that, yes, yes, yes, they do, but I do, not don’t. So they’re wrong about me being wrong, and we’re both right, but I’m right about everything and they’re only right about him not me. Ha ha. And Meredith knows and Imogen knows and Cameron knows and Blake knows and I don’t know if Catherine knows and you know and Cameron’s gay but he can’t be my bridesmaid because Imogen’s a bitch and my head really hurts and I don’t even really like Mexican themes and I wonder why I did this and I think it’s maybe because I feel really sorry for Catherine because she’s dating a gay guy or maybe it’s just because I’m a good person. I’m a good person, aren’t I? Yes, yes, yes. Oh, why did I kiss Peter? I don’t like toilet humour at all and I don’t even really like him and I think pink is my only real friend and …’

‘Cameron’s gay?’

Kerry sighed melodramatically and slapped the quilt with her hands. ‘Duh!’

‘I’ll go get you some water,’ said Mark quietly, slipping out of the room and walking down the stairs, where he almost collided with Meredith and Imogen who were walking up in search of Kerry. ‘Congratulations. You’ve finally turned him into what you want.’

Meredith wasn’t sure what he meant, so just to be on the safe side she threw him a filthy glare as he walked away, before she continued up to Catherine’s bedroom, where she and Imogen came across the wreckage of Kerry Davison, who was lying on the bed gently singing ‘Believe’ by Cher to herself.

‘Kerry?’

At the sound of Imogen’s voice, Kerry suddenly gasped in realization and squeaked, ‘I did a bad thing.’

‘Were you sick?’

‘No. I’m not Catherine! You see I know what you think I don’t know, but I do.’

‘What?’ asked Meredith.

‘About Cameron,’ she mumbled tearfully, ‘and Blake. I guessed. I knew. I’ve always been the one who knows and feels and guesses and sings. And I know, but … but …’

‘What have you done?’ asked Imogen, sitting next to her on the bed as Meredith watched her suspiciously.

‘I told Mark,’ she said as she began to cry. ‘He tricked me. I hurt my chin.’

‘One day, I’m going to have to kill you,’ said Meredith.

‘What a fucking bastard!’ roared Imogen. ‘That must’ve been what he meant when he spoke to us on the stairs.’

‘What?’

‘He thinks we turned Cameron gay! What an ignorant troll!’

The story of how Mark Kingston got mild concussion that night varied depending on who you were talking to. Meredith Harper always swore it was an accident, but several eyewitnesses – Imogen and Cameron included – maintained that they had seen her look in Mark’s direction and clock exactly where he was standing before being blindfolded and handed the stick that she was supposed to hit the piñata with. It was also noted by some that instead of striking the stick upwards, to where the piñata was hanging from the tree, she had actually swung it up and then sideways, bringing it down into direct contact with Mark Kingston’s head. It was also curious that instead of seeming surprised by the fact that she had bludgeoned a fellow party guest, Meredith simply removed the blindfold and said, ‘Oops,’ in a light, breezy tone, before handing the stick over to a terrified-looking Blake.

As Stewart and Peter helped Mark upstairs, Meredith was heard to remark, ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not that upset. I didn’t even really want any sweets anyway.’

‘Cameron, could you grab some ice for the poor guy’s head and bring it upstairs?’ asked Peter. Irritated at being asked to help Mark when they were still technically on non-speakers, but reluctant to look like he was refusing medical aid to someone who had just been pummelled on the forehead, Cameron went into the kitchen and retrieved a bag of ice from the freezer, then he walked upstairs where Mark was sitting on the edge of the bath looking furious. ‘Fuck, that hurt,’ he hissed. ‘Fuck, I hate her.’

Stewart nodded sympathetically, knowing that now was not the time to challenge Mark on this kind of sentiment. He looked up to see Cameron standing in the doorway, from where he passed the bag of ice, without stepping in.

‘Hope he feels better.’

As he walked across the landing, he bumped into Blake, who had come up to check on Mark. Cameron felt his entire stomach tighten at the sight of him and it felt like someone was sitting on his chest. ‘Excuse me,’ said Cameron, attempting to get past him.

Blake grabbed his arm and placed himself in his way. ‘Cam, wait.’

‘Blake, let go of my arm.’

‘Can we please just talk?’ he whispered.

‘Blake, we really don’t have anything to say to each other. Remember, you’re not like me.’ And with that Cameron Matthews gently pulled his arm out of Blake’s grip and walked down the stairs without looking back.

12

THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE BIRTHDAY PIÑATA