Saturday 3 September

If I look back at the formal when I’m old, old Adelaide, I will remember these things particularly:

Max arriving in a killer tux – jacket, trousers chopped to knee-length, long black lace-up Docs.

Luring Theo Ledwidge away from the computers with false smiles, giving him lots of detailed instructions about the location of a non-existent afterparty so Kate could download her magical browser extension.

Dancing to Hoxton, out of control with relief, delirious in anticipation of the PSST annihilation. Max and I laughing our heads off and, later, dancing slowly, close and whispery.

Making sure we were at the computers when the time came so Theo couldn’t wreck Kate’s plan.

The cheer that built up and exploded when Kate’s amazing flower-bombed version of PSST appeared on the screen, post after post covered in flowers, not a vicious word to be seen. She is the hero of the entire school. It warmed my heart to see that the guys were cheering just as hard as the girls. It really has been a few shithead trolls: Theo Ledwidge and associates.

Malik’s look of puzzlement quickly graduating to happiness, as he realised what we’d done.

Going to Malik with Kate and Clem to give him Theo Ledwidge’s name and asking him to make sure Basildon would be told, and PSST shut down.

I’m generally no fan of violence, but it was a triumph for good over evil when Oliver clocked Theo.

Clem being very gentle with a crying Iris.

Tash, a few too many drinks on an empty stomach, slurring to me that we’d always be friends, and me privately doubting that very much.

Ben walking in right at the end, and the smile on Clem’s bearded face.

Me, Max, Kate, Oliver, Clem and Ben piling into an Uber, going to the breakfast truck on St Kilda beach, and watching the sun rise eating French toast and jaffles and drinking outlandish milkshakes. Mine was Jaffa, sprinkled with popping candy.