Sunday 14 August

If we’d analysed what we did in advance, each one of us would have known we were heading for a Saturday detention. But it was one of those glorious moments when three people make an unspoken pact: let’s just do it.

So now I’m waiting for the official talk from my parents.

I didn’t actually see Clem’s failure to launch; I walked into the buzz and confusion that followed it when I left the gear cupboard, where I’d been to meet Rupert.

I slipped into the gear cupboard – a room filled with squad kickboards, and lane floaty things, and water polo stuff, and containers of chlorine – while all eyes were on the brand-new turquoise investment.

I knew Rupert would be expecting that we’d mess around a bit, and I had firmly decided to delay the break-up till after the formal. (Don’t judge me.) When he came in, looking gorgeous, I knew I’d made the right decision.

He kissed me and, before my brain could intervene, break-up words started coming out of my mouth. It was like a Wellness class override coming into effect.

‘I’m sorry, Rupe, I think we’ve got to break up.’ I put my hand gently on his cheek. Not one pimple. He’s like a god. You could cast him as the younger brother of Sam Heughan and people would totally believe it.

He looked at me with a wary smile. ‘Are you joking?’

‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Why?’

I was as surprised as he was to hear it come out of my mouth: ‘I’m not in love.’ It’s not like we’d ever even mentioned love.

‘Me neither. But that’s not a problem, is it?’

‘Well, yeah – I mean, maybe.’

‘Is there someone else?’

Such an annoying response.

He obviously misinterpreted the pause. ‘Who is it?’

‘There’s no one else. And I’m kind of hurt that you’d think it.’

‘Well, I’m kind of hurt that I’m getting dumped for no reason.’

‘No offence, but “not in love” is not “no reason”.’

He was silent. He looked sulky, broody, like a model for an edgy fashion label.

‘I am sorry. I mean it. Wait a few minutes before you come out, okay?’

‘Okay.’

I planted one last kiss on his manly cheek. He flinched. Unnecessary dramatics, Rupe.

Anyway, that’s how come I left the pool hot on the bare heels of Clem, and how I found myself soon after eating a delicious and entirely unexpected morning tea.

My parents are not impressed.

I’m knitting my new project, a stripy cardigan that will have rainbow wings or petals erupting from the shoulders, budding, opening up further down towards the elbow. I am knitting because I’m impatient to make something the minute I think of it, and because I know it will annoy my parents that I’m not concentrating fully on their message to me about what a disappointment I am.

‘Do not smirk, Adelaide,’ my mother says. It wasn’t a smirk; it was a little ding of recognition about why I was finding myself interested in Kate and Clem. I don’t know what either of them will do next. I could write the script for Bec or Lola or Tash. But these two – nuh-uh, never at all what I expect.

‘I’m not.’

‘What you did was childish and so disrespectful. You ruined a carefully planned afternoon tea. You’re lucky it’s just a Saturday detention.’

‘Yeah, I feel so fricken lucky.’

My mother goes into her annoyed lip compression mode. ‘You could have been suspended.’

‘Like you were,’ I say, looking at my father. How can they be so self-righteous? It’s a family joke that he was suspended from Basildon, for smoking, when he was sixteen.

‘We’re talking about you, not your father.’

‘No, we never talk about him, do we?’

‘Could we lose the attitude, please?’ my mother says.

‘I know that we’re in trouble. I can hear you fighting. I don’t know why you even care about this. It’d be better if I got expelled. Then you wouldn’t have to pay my school fees.’

My parents exchange a long look.

‘Ady, we do want to talk to you . . .’ my father starts.

‘But not now.’ The way she looks at him! She’s clearly the source of my death-stare powers. Exactly what are they not telling me?

My father’s look concedes my mother’s right to call the shots. He leaves the arena with a parting platitude: ‘School’s a game, Ady; you’ve just got to play along.’

‘You two think you’re so cool, but you’re such losers.’ I count some stitches.

My mother yanks the knitting out of my hands and slams it down on the table.

‘Could you stop deflecting attention from yourself and try for one minute to take this seriously?’

‘I know. If only I was perfect, like Clare.’

I can tell my mother is using all her self-control not to bite back. ‘I’m not going to keep talking to you while you’re being such a smart-arse. But do think about it. What you did was –’

‘“Childish and disrespectful”. I get it.’

‘You have so many opportunities, Ady – don’t be the person who takes that for granted.’

She walks out of the room, leaving me alone with my dropped stitches.

Happy families.

I wonder how much trouble Kate and Clem are in.

To say that Clem took the road less travelled today would be the understatement of the century. That Kate and I followed her is another unexpected result of the world according to Malik.