Tuesday 30 August

Walking into homeroom it’s a gentle crackling, the slightest change in atmospheric pressure, but I feel it. Honestly? They love to see someone fall. Can it really be my turn to get kicked again?

Tash rushes up, excited, though trying not to be too rabid. You never want to look eager for blood. ‘Babe, I didn’t know it was that bad. You should have told me.’

‘You’re really leaving school?’ Lola wants to know. ‘Isn’t that a bit extreme?’

Tell me about it.

‘Can’t your gram bail you out?’ Bec asks.

They’re speaking in important overlapping whispers to acknowledge the disgrace and ensure that everyone will look our way.

I answer each in turn. ‘It is. I am. Extreme is the new black in our family: all the grown-ups have to act like grown-ups. That means no more bailing out by Gram.’

I stand up. ‘This time it really is true. The bottom feeders got their facts right. I am in the middle of a family crisis. I am leaving the school. My father is in rehab. I am seeing a girl: early days. That is all. No flowers by request. Any queries can be directed to my press secretary.’

I’m acting super nonchalant. What other way is there to be at a time like this? Inside, I’m shuddering and crumbling. Was I wrong about my friends being above all the PSST bullshit? Could Tash have been dripping poison on me all this time?

Only they – and Clem and Kate – knew about most of this stuff. Surely those guys wouldn’t have blabbed, would they? I try to think who else, but only they knew about me and Max . . .

But here they are, their faces looking the way I’m not letting myself look. Sad and worried. Kate holding her hand out, touching my shoulder. The large silence. Clem growling, ‘What are you all staring at? Announcement over.’

Tash walks in front of them. ‘Come on, Ady, we really need to debrief. A girl? What girl?’

I stand with Kate and Clem. ‘No time for debriefs – we’ll catch up later.’

I turn away – how right that feels – and walk to English with my thumb-compatibles. Maybe it was one of Clare’s friends doing the blabbing about my dad. It could be any kid in the school whose mother is a friend of my mother. There’s no real possibility of containing information anymore. That’s not the way things work now we are living in the hate days. Now, because someone anonymous posted this stuff on PSST, the whole world knows all the new and private things about me before I’m even used to them myself, and there’s not a single thing I can do about it.

I’m in a pretty significant low here. Malik comes to mind. Wellness wisdom. An anonymous foe is beneath contempt. Not worthy of your attention. True, but an anonymous foe can still mess things up, and you have to deal with that.

‘It’s just – everything at once,’ I say, tears threatening. I breathe them away.

‘I know,’ says Kate.

‘How would they know about me and Max?’

Clem gives me a shoulder squeeze. ‘It’s probably just a random insult – in their fucked-up view of the world.’

‘We’re going to deal with the haters,’ says Kate. ‘This is shitting me to death.’