I wake up early the next morning on the inflatable mattress in Dad’s new lounge room, which is also the dining room and kitchen. Carolyn is snoring away beside me on the couch. I lie there for a while, listening to the trucks rumbling past outside, with a funny feeling in my stomach – and I know it’s because of the bracelet. Last night, taking the bracelet had felt exciting. But overnight the feeling has changed, like when you leave milk out of the fridge for too long and it goes all thick and lumpy.

I get up quietly and check the pocket of my school uniform. It’s where I hid the bracelet before going to bed last night. I think I’m hoping that maybe it’s vanished or something. It hasn’t, of course, but somehow it doesn’t look quite so pretty anymore. Maybe I should take it back, I think. Or give it away? Then I hear Dad moving around in his room and I quickly zip the bracelet back into my pocket. I’ll work out what to do with it later.

Mornings at Dad’s place are always more relaxed than at Mum’s. Dad doesn’t hassle us about eating breakfast or worry about whether we’re going to be late for school. He doesn’t make us lunch either – just gives us some money for the canteen, which is fine by me.

I get ready quickly and don’t bother about breakfast, because I want to catch the bus instead of waiting for a lift with Dad. I feel like I want to be on my own. The bus is pretty full, as usual, and even though it’s stupid, I keep thinking that whenever anyone looks at me it’s because they know what I did. That they can tell I nicked something.

When I get to school I head to the spot where Leni, Soph and I usually hang out before school starts – even though I know they won’t be there yet.

I’m just rounding a corner near the lockers when I run into Ethan. Literally. I’m so shocked that I just stand there for a moment, gaping at him like an idiot. He’s looking at me in the same way. Finally he says, ‘I’d better go,’ and tries to escape.

But I’m not having that. ‘Are you going out with Hannah now?’ I ask, blocking his way.

‘No,’ he says. ‘We’re just friends.’

‘Oh yeah, right,’ I say, super sarcastic. ‘Just friends who hang out all the time and laugh and go and see weird old movies together.’

He gives me a strange look – probably because he doesn’t realise I spotted him at the cinema last night. Then he says, ‘Hannah likes weird old movies, just like I do. It’s one of the reasons we’re friends.’

‘And what are the other reasons?’ I say. ‘It can’t be that she’s pretty.’ I know that’s a nasty thing to say. But I am getting mad. Ethan gets this really disgusted expression on his face and says, ‘Maybe she’s not as pretty as you, but she’s smarter.’

I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Ethan likes Hannah better than me because she’s smarter? What kind of guy is he? ‘She is not smarter than me!’ I manage to say eventually.

Ethan hesitates, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or not. He must decide not to, because he suddenly steps around me and starts heading off towards the library.

‘You shouldn’t have dumped me with a text message!’ I yell after him. ‘That’s really rude, Ethan.’

He stops and turns back for a moment. ‘You’re right,’ he says, in that calm way of his which is extremely annoying. ‘That was rude and I’m sorry. But you know what, Anya? Sometimes it feels like the only way to get your attention is via your phone.’ He walks away, totally taking advantage of the fact that I’m too gobsmacked to stop him.

Without even realising I’m doing it, I take the Cargo bracelet out of my pocket and put it on. The moment it’s on, I feel better. More in control.

By the time Leni and Soph arrive, I’m not shocked anymore. Now I’m furious. ‘Can you believe Ethan thinks Hannah is smarter than I am?’ I say, fuming. I’m expecting them both to say, That’s crazy! but they say nothing. I narrow my eyes at them. ‘You guys don’t actually think that’s true, do you?’ I say.

‘Well,’ says Soph slowly, ‘Hannah does always do pretty well in tests and stuff.’

‘Especially in maths,’ adds Leni. ‘But you don’t care, do you? You hate maths.’

The thing is, I didn’t go to the same primary school as Leni or Soph, so they don’t know that I used to be really good at maths. And it’s not like I can suddenly say, Actually I used to be a mathlete, because how much of a loser would that make me look? There’s only one thing I can do. I have to wait for a chance to show them – and Ethan – that I’m smarter than they think.

‘Hey,’ says Leni, pointing at my wrist. ‘Pretty bracelet.’ I know she’s trying to change the topic, but she’s right. The bracelet is pretty. It seems to have its sparkle back now that I’m outside.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘My dad bought it for me. You know, to make me feel better about breaking up with Ethan.’

‘Wow,’ says Soph. ‘That’s so nice of him. It looks expensive.’

I shrug. ‘Yeah, it probably is. But you can borrow it any time you like.’

In maths later that morning, Mr Cartright springs a surprise test on us. Everyone groans – except me, because I realise this is my chance to show everyone that they’re wrong about me. That I am smart.

Just before the test starts, I see Hannah give Ethan a little smile and mouth the words good luck to him. It’s totally sick-making.

Just you wait, I think to myself. We’ll see who’s really smarter.

The doctor’s office is open late on Thursday evenings, so Mum isn’t around for dinner. When my parents first split up, Carolyn and I used to make dinner together on Thursdays. Carolyn would do most of the cooking but I’d help a lot. It was actually pretty fun. But we haven’t cooked together for ages and the moment I walk into the flat, I can tell that we won’t be doing it this evening either. There’s the sound of laughter and talking coming from Carolyn’s room, which means that Max is over – even though he’s not meant to visit during the week.

I check out the fridge and find some bread, a couple of soft-ish apples, some cheese and an old bunch of celery that’s so limp that when I shake it, it looks like a big green hand, waving. I know how to cook pesto pasta on my own, but there are no jars of red pesto in the cupboard, so in the end I take the less-soft apple and a hunk of cheese and make myself some Vegemite toast. Then I sit down to eat it in front of the TV.

I can hear Max and Carolyn talking and laughing in her room. They’ve been going out for ages now. Maybe they’ll get married one day. Will Carolyn ask me to be her bridesmaid? Last year I would’ve thought so, but now I’m not so sure. I just seem to bug her at the moment.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m sitting alone on our huge sofa, but I suddenly feel really small. Like I’m just this dot floating around in the universe, so tiny and unimportant that no-one even sees me. I curl up on the sofa and before I know it, I’m starting to drift off.

The next thing I know Mum’s leaning over me, holding a box of what smells like Chinese takeaway. ‘Hi, honey,’ she says. ‘Are you hungry? I’ve got you some chicken and vegies.’ I sit up. The food smells good.

As I’m reaching out to take the container, Mum spots the bracelet on my arm. ‘Where did that come from?’ she asks.

‘Dad gave it to me,’ I say, because it’s started to feel true.

Mum’s face goes all tight. ‘How lovely that someone’s got money to fritter away,’ she mutters.

The food smells bring Carolyn out of her room. Max doesn’t appear so either she’s stuffed him into a cupboard or he left while I was asleep.

‘How’s the homework going?’ Mum asks.

Carolyn exhales loudly and plonks herself down on the sofa. ‘I’ve been working at it solidly since I got home,’ she says. Her eyes slide sideways, like she’s daring me to contradict her.

Of course I wouldn’t, but I can’t resist teasing her a bit. I pull this confused look and open my mouth like I’m about to say something. Then, when I see her panicked expression, I grin and shut my mouth again. When I go to my room later, I take the bracelet off and put it in the bottom of my schoolbag. I’m hoping that if Mum doesn’t see it, she’ll forget about it.

I’m just getting my lunch from my bag the next day when Mr Cartright comes up to me. He’s looking very serious. I mean, he’s not exactly Mr Jolly at the best of times, but today his face is even more stern than usual.

‘Anya,’ he says. ‘Come to my office, please.’

What have I done? For once I don’t have any make-up on, so it can’t be that. I can see Leni and Soph looking at me wide-eyed. ‘Now?’ I say.

‘Yes. Now.’

Mr Cartright shares an office with another teacher, but it’s obvious which desk is his. It’s the one with the three pens perfectly lined up beside a laptop, which is sitting open at exactly ninety degrees. Mr Cartright must have used a protractor to get the angle so straight. It’s tempting to reach out while he’s not looking and adjust the angle just the tiniest bit, to see how long it takes him to notice. But I don’t.

Next to the laptop is a neatly stacked pile of tests. I take a peek – it’s the one we did yesterday. Hannah’s is sitting on the top. She got eighty-nine per cent. Mr Cartright takes the chair from the other desk and puts it down in front of me. ‘Sit down please, Anya,’ he says. The chair is way too high for me and my legs are dangling, but I don’t want to try adjusting it in case I accidentally eject myself. I’m pretty sure Mr Cartright wouldn’t find that funny.

Mr Cartright shuffles through the pile of tests, extracts one and places it in front of me. It’s mine – and I got ninety-five per cent! Ha! I think. Take that Hannah!

‘This is an excellent mark,’ says Mr Cartright. It sounds like good news, but the tone of his voice tells me it’s not. ‘Anya,’ he says. ‘Did you cheat on this test?’

‘No!’ I say indignantly. ‘I didn’t!’

Mr Cartright silently turns his laptop around so the screen is facing me. There’s a spreadsheet open on it, with a list of all my marks for the year so far. Fifty-six per cent. Fifty-two per cent. Forty-nine per cent. Then right at the bottom there’s my latest mark, in red. Ninety-five per cent.

‘You can probably see why I’m a little suspicious,’ Mr Cartright says quietly.

‘I didn’t cheat!’ I say, hating the way my voice has suddenly gone all squeaky so I sound like I’m lying. ‘I just tried really hard this time.’ It’s so, so unfair that when I actually do a good job, I still get into trouble.

Mr Cartright’s eyebrows rise like two woolly sheep leaping into the air. ‘Do you mean that you didn’t try on all the other tests?’ he says. ‘You deliberately tried to get low marks?’

Okay, so I can see how that might sound strange – especially to someone like Mr Cartright. Because Mr Cartright is not a girl and if he was ever thirteen (which is hard to believe) it must have been a very long time ago. Too long ago for him to remember why someone might pretend not to be good at something. So I don’t answer.

Mr Cartright leans forward, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. ‘Anya, do you have any ideas about what you want to do when you leave school?’ he asks me. I hate this question, but adults are obsessed with asking it. They’re always going on about how you should enjoy being young, but they constantly ask you about what you’ll do when you’re old.

‘No,’ I mumble. ‘Not yet.’ I hope this will be enough, but it’s not.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘You must have some idea.’

I fold my arms tightly. ‘Well, nothing that’s got anything to do with maths, that’s for sure,’ I say.

‘Can I ask why?’ Mr Cartright asks, and he looks genuinely surprised.

‘Because maths is so boring!’ I say.

I’m half-expecting Mr Cartright to lose it at me then. I get the feeling that he lives for maths. But instead he just does this long, drawn-out sigh and says, ‘So, what then?’

‘Maybe a buyer for a fashion label,’ I say. I know this is Carolyn’s dream, not mine, but I’m desperate and I’m hoping it’ll shut him up because I’m pretty sure Mr Cartright will have no idea what a buyer is.

Luckily it seems to do the trick, because finally Mr Cartright pushes away from his desk and opens the office door. ‘You can go for now,’ he says.

The funny thing is that now I’m not sure I want to go. I don’t know what he’s thinking. I hover in the doorway. ‘Mr Cartright? Do you believe me that I didn’t cheat?’ I ask.

He frowns at me in this puzzled way. ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he says. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

‘Oh,’ I mutter. It’s pretty hurtful to realise that Mr Cartright thinks I’m the sort of person who might cheat. But I guess it also means he thinks there’s a chance that I didn’t. I decide to risk asking one more question. ‘What did Ethan get?’ I ask.

‘He got ninety-one per cent,’ says Mr Cartright. ‘You topped the class, Anya.’

It’s amazing how good that makes me feel.