ow, Oh God, Harriet can mean many things.

Put an exclamation mark on the end, and it’s excitement and happiness: Oh God, Harriet!

A question mark makes it sympathetic and concerned: Oh God, Harriet?

A full stop in the middle could mean fear for my wellbeing or maybe I’ve broken something important and expensive. Oh God. Harriet!

And obviously it goes without saying that it could just mean that I’ve inadvertently become some kind of deity.

But this has none of those inflexions.

It’s a flat Oh God … Harriet.

And I’m trying to repunctuate it as hard as I can, but it still just sounds tired.

I swallow. Don’t be neurotic, Harriet.

“Hi!” I say awkwardly, bouncing towards her. “India! Are you on your way? I’m running late too! Why don’t we walk together?”

India blinks a few times. “On my way where?”

“To the … library. I sent a message to everyone in Team JINTH, remember?”

“Right,” she says vaguely. “Yeah, there’s something wrong with my phone. I don’t think I’m getting those texts any more.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. No wonder she hasn’t been answering: you can’t reply to messages you haven’t read.

“So how are you?” I say a lot more chirpily. “Are you still in trouble? How’s the Head Girl Emergency?”

“The …” India frowns, “… what?”

“Your Head Girl Emergency. And Nat told us all about how you were suddenly grounded at my house and dragged home. You poor thing.”

India looks around us.

“Umm, yeah. It’s been hard. Crazy busy. Go go go.”

Then there’s a brief silence.

It’s a silence so long and cold you could skate on it and do a little twirl, should you be interested in skating and twirling on silences.

India’s always been a little intimidating – even from the start – but I don’t remember it ever being this awkward between us.

Not even after my In Your Face dance last year when I won Miss Hammond’s riddles quiz.

And that was pretty bad.

“So … umm,” I say, glancing at the shopping bags in one of her hands and the coffee in the other, “what’re you up to?”

Weird that she didn’t pick our coffee shop: this is from the one on the other side of town.

“Errands.” She looks down at her Topshop bag. “You?”

“I’m off to the library,” I explain, then brighten. “Oh my gosh, you should come, India! You’ve missed all the drama. My friend Rin turned up from Japan and she’s really hitting it off with Jasper, but they’re both too shy to do anything about it, so I’ve arranged this big, surprise, romantic date for them and now I’m off to make sure it all goes perfectly!”

Then I stop and take a deep breath.

Huh. That was easier to sum up than I thought it would be.

“Right,” she says after a few more beats. “That sounds … fun. Anyway, nice running into you, Harriet. See you again soon.”

Then India takes a sip from her wrong-brand coffee, gives me a mini finger-wave with the tips of her purple gloves and starts walking the other way.

I blink at her retreating purple back.

“But …” That’s the direction she just came from. “Don’t you want to come too? You haven’t seen any of us for ages.”

“No thanks,” she says without turning round. “But have a good time.”

I can feel my stomach starting to twist.

Now I know.

I’m not being neurotic.

My initial instincts were right. I just managed to convince myself I was being oversensitive because it was easier than facing the alternative.

That India was separating herself from the group.

Head Girl Emergencies? What would they even be anyway? The wrong photo on the cover of the Year 11 yearbook?

“India,” I say, taking a few steps towards her, “have I done something wrong? Are you angry with me?”

“Don’t worry about it, Harriet.”

I blink in confusion as she carries on walking. She didn’t say no. “But … when will I see you again?” I call after her miserably. “How about tomorrow? The day after? Next weekend?”

And then – just as I’m drowning in a big pit of confusion – she says the one, single thing she can’t take back: three little words that will never be unsaid.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, India looks me straight in the eye without a flicker.

“I’ll call you.”