After all the excitement of the morning, everything’s yawningly normal at school until lunch break, when Loopy (real name Miss Lupin) bounces down the hall in her usual uniform of Birkenstocks, tie-dyed skirt, and Fair Trade T-shirt. She sweeps past me and Mills in a waft of patchouli. For some reason, Annabelle Hamilton and the rest of the D4s are trailing after her: orange rats to her eco Pied Piper. Good to see their fake-tan addiction is still intact — the day they break that habit, the shopkeepers of Ireland will suffer drastically.

“What’s going on?” I ask Mills.

She looks sheepish. “Oops. I forgot to tell you. It was the talk of French class. Miss Stringer has resigned from the drama club ’cause of her teeth.”

“Her teeth?”

“Hard-core train tracks. Top and bottom. Apparently, she can barely talk properly, let alone produce a musical. She’s so self-conscious, she won’t open her mouth.”

I shake my head and tut. “First the olds steal our Gaga, then our Glee, and now our dentistry! It’s not right, my friend. And isn’t Stringer a bit long in the tooth for extreme orthodontics?” I grin at my own bad joke.

Mills groans. “That’s terrible, Amy! But you’d think, wouldn’t you? However, as we both know, olds can be mighty strange! Anyway, Miss Lupin’s taken over the drama club. She doesn’t have time to direct a musical, though, ’cause of all her other commitments, so she’s come up with a compromise until Miss Stringer’s feeling up to returning.”

“Which is?”

Mills nods at Loopy, who is now standing in front of the school notice board, a sheet of paper clutched against her chest. The D4s are surging toward her like a pack of rabid football fans. “She said she’d announce it at lunch break. Hence the D4 scrum.”

The air smells of D4 ambition — they are all wannabe celebrities.

Loopy yelps as one of them stands on her toe. “For heaven’s sake, move back, girls,” she says. “I’m not putting this up until you give me some space.”

“Everyone, like, back,” Annabelle, D4 Queen Bee, commands in her recently acquired quasi-Californian accent. (For some reason, Annabelle thinks it’s cool to sound like a 90210 extra instead of a bog-standard Dublin girl.) Her minions shuffle back reluctantly in their navy docksiders.

Loopy pins the notice up, and Annabelle immediately shrieks, “There’s going to be a Saint John’s talent contest on Halloween. The J Factor. Auditions start next week. I’m so going to win!” She beams, showing off her perfect teeth, and begins dancing along the corridor, pumping her arms in the air and rapping, “Who’s got the J Factor? I’ve got the J Factor. Who’s gonna beat me? No one’s gonna beat me.”

“Are you entering?” I ask Mills quietly. “You’re brilliant at piano.”

She smiles gently. “I don’t think classical music’s quite what they’re after, Ames, but thanks.” She links arms with me. “Come on, let’s find the boys.”

We walk outside to where Seth and Bailey are standing by the wall, waiting for us. Bailey Otis is new this year, but he and Seth are already as thick as thieves. My heart gives its familiar lurch at the sight of Seth. Even though we’ve been together for nearly four months now, his sky-blue eyes and blond floppy hair still make my heart beat faster.

And Mills is as crazy about Mr. OMG Otis. I don’t blame her — he is tongue-hanging-out cute. Piercing emerald eyes, jet-black shaggy hair, cheekbones to die for. They’ve officially been boyfriend/girlfriend for three weeks now, and most of the time you need a crowbar to separate them.

“Hey, Amy.” Seth kisses me gently, his lips warm and firm against mine. I blush a little, hoping none of the D4s have spotted us. They have a nasty habit of calling “Get a room” at anyone apart from a fellow D4 showing any PDA (public display of affection) at school.

“Field hockey steps?” he says. (It’s where we always have lunch unless it’s raining.)

I nod. “May as well make the most of the sun. Nice penguin, by the way.” I smile and nudge him playfully with my shoulder. There’s a cartoon drawing of a penguin with a heart on its tummy on the brown-paper sandwich bag he’s clutching. Polly, Seth’s mum, is always drawing on his lunch. Sweet!

He grins and rolls his eyes. “Polly’s a nightmare.” But I know he doesn’t mean it. There’s only the two of them, and they’re very close. She had breast cancer recently, but she’s having treatment in the hospital Dave works at and is doing really well now, thankfully.

I go to say hi to Bailey, but it’s too late — he and Mills are already smooching. Bailey’s large DJ headphones are still clamped over his ears, though, like two halves of a coconut.

“See you at the steps, lovebirds,” I call.

“Remember to keep that tongue in time with the tunes, Otis,” Seth adds.

Bailey doesn’t stop kissing Mills, but he does lift one finger in a rather rude gesture and waggles it at us.

Seth laughs heartily. “Surprised you can hear me, mate.”

At the steps we sit down and start eating. By the time Mills and Bailey reach us — his arm slung around her shoulders, her fingers entwined in one of his belt loops — we’ve almost finished. Bailey sits on the top step and Mills arranges herself on the second, so she can rest her head against his chest. She swivels around, and they start snogging again.

“Please!” I say. “I’m trying to eat, people.”

They break away, and Mills giggles, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”

“Apologies, Greenster,” Bailey says with a grin. “Just can’t help myself.” He starts singing an old tune that Dave sometimes plays called “Addicted to Love,” changing the lyrics from “Might as well face it, I’m addicted to love” to “Might as well face it, I’m addicted to Mills.” He’s got an amazing voice, deep and husky, yet caramel smooth. As he serenades her, Mills gazes at him dreamily.

And moments later, they’re kissing again.

Seth stands up and holds out his hand to me. “I think we should just leave them to it. They clearly have things to discuss. Telepathically.”

I grin. “Tongue-apathically, you mean?”